Another Number
by writeroneday
Summary: When the new number comes up, Finch and Reese find that things are not always what they seem.
1. Chapter 1

I do not own the characters from Person of Intrest, CBS, I receive no money from this. Please leave a review.

He blended, it was his job, to notice and not be noticed. Slowly he moved from the edge of the corner of the building in Manhattan and continued to follow 'the new number' His movements were fluid and precise, he was always aware of his surroundings, he had to, to stay alive. His subject stopped and looked at something in a shop window and he stopped also. He turned slightly as if looking into a display window where he stood. His eyes focused from his subject to his own reflection in the window looking back at him. It had taken some time for him to actually look at his own reflection in a mirror and not see a monster.

His current name was Jonathan Reese, biologically he was thirty eight years old, physically he was much older, with the damage that had been done to his body over the years he some times felt as if he were ninety. He remember a saying he had heard once, "its not the years, it's the mileage" and he had a lot of mileage. What he saw reflecting back in the window was a tall, thin, muscular man with dark hair, a touch of grey here and there, cut short on the sides and a little long on top. Thin angular face with a straight nose, and thin lips that rarely smiled. His eyes were green and carried a depth of sadness of an old soul who had seen too much of a world of darkness. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his subject move and he followed.

His subject, David Taylor, the 'new number' was a young art dealer, he was in his late twenties and had made quite a name for himself, he had opened an art gallery just off 5th Ave three years ago and had done very well; but, his 'number' had come up and that meant that he was about to get into or create some kind of problem. He or someone he had dealings with was about to die, and it was Reese's job to try and prevent it.

David Taylor turned into the coffee shop as he did every morning, heading to the counter.

Reese moved to the edge of the street and stood looking at a news stand box as if interested in what the front page of the paper said in the dirty window it sat in. He was turned strategically so he could keep and eye inside the coffee shop.

There was a beep in his right ear. He reached up and touched the small ear bud receiver. A voice spoke…

"Mr. Reese, do you have him in sight?"

There was just the slightest up turn of the corner of his mouth. "Yes Mr. Finch." His voice was low, soft, and slightly raspy.

"I have some very disturbing data on David Taylor."

Reese waited.

"I think you need to come in and review what I have found…" The voice hesitated, and Reese could picture the smallish man on the other end of the conversation adjusting his thick rimmed glasses and looking pensive at the multitude of computer screens in front of him. "This is something you need to look at, something more in your line then mine."

Reese cocked his head slightly and sighed, keeping his subject in sight as he walked out of the coffee shop with a tall cup and a bag of special made sweets he purchased every morning. "All right, let me tail him to the gallery and then I will come in." He didn't like coming in to the computer.

"John this is really disturbing." Finch using Reese's first name showed how worried the computer genius was.

"I'm on my way…be there in ten…" Reese followed Taylor to his gallery and waited as the man unlocked the cage in front of the place and unlocked the door and went in. If he followed the routine of the last four days he would stay there until five pm and then he would lock up and head out to a club for a drink and meetings.

Reese's cast a glance up and down the street; nothing seemed abnormal, things felt right. He turned and walked back the way he had come; going into a garage where earlier he had parked his motorcycle. He looked around the sparsely occupied floor and when satisfied he was alone for the moment, he open the side luggage compartment. He removed his jacket to reveal a gun on the right side of his hip/back. He pulled a black leather jacket out and put it on, instantly hiding the gun, then he folded his dress jacket and pulling his helmet out he laid the jacket in the compartment and closed the lid on the compartment. Stabbing the key in the ignition, he straddled the bike, turned the fuel on and hit the starter, the bike roared to life. He drove out of the garage, back toward Taylor's gallery and past the huge front windows. Glancing in seeing Taylor sitting at his desk on the upper mezzanine and with a twist of the throttle he roared out of sight.

It was a non-descript building down in the warehouse district, old red brick. The security cameras around the building were well placed and very well hid. The whole building was owned by a small corporation that was owned by a larger corporation that was that was handled by a private firm.

Reese hit the button on the bike that would open the garage door at the back of the building and drove in, parking next to a dark car. He saw that Harold Finch had gotten another new car, he changed cars like Reese changed identities. He kicked the stand down on the bike, turned the motor off, hearing the garage door shut he slid off the bike and pulled the helmet off and exchanged his leather jacket for the dress coat he had been wearing. He walked over to the elevator, seeing that it had been sent down for his arrival and lifted the cage and slid the door sideways slightly, just enough to step in, he grabbed above his head, closed the cage and then the door and pressed the fifth floor button. It smoothly went up to the fifth floor. He opened the door and then the cage, leaving it all in the open position.

Walking down a short hall way he passed a couple of rooms, both held beds, each with their own bathrooms. Next there was a very well equipped kitchen and then he stepped from the hallway and into the heart of the fifth floor. Thousands of books lined the walls; several large tables were place around the room. In the center of the room was a massive bundle of cables running from the top of the ceiling to massive computer and screens in a semi circle, a control console.

Reese sundered into the room and located Harold Finch; he had once referred to Finch as 'tech support', but he considered him more then that, he had very few friends, but he counted Finch as one, which meant he would die to protect the strange little man.

Finch had picked him up out of the gutter. He was dirty, unkempt, with long hair and a full bushy beard. At the time he didn't care about anything other then where to get the next bottle of booze and being left alone. There had been another street person, a woman who had watched after him when he came around her building, but he wandered, restless, demons haunting even his alcohol fogged mind. He'd been riding the subway, staying out of the rain and cold and had a group of young tuffs decide to hassle him. Unfortunately, his survival mode had kicked in and he had basically wiped the floor with them all, and he had been caught on video.

He was brought in for questioning, he remained sullen and silent. The detective, a woman had talked about the video, asked him all the questions he would not answer. The detective had offered him a drink of water and then had promptly taken the cup and had it finger printed.

But before anything could happen a lawyer had rescued Reese, he was approached by Finch and had walked away. But he found out Finch was relentless like a terrier with a rat and he wound up waking up bathed, clean shaven, and sleeping in a clean bed and except for the fact he had been hand cuffed, he had been mildly surprised. But he had listened; Mr. Finch explained what he wanted, explained about "the Machine" and what it did. They talked, or Harold talked, Reese listened and Harold gave Reese something he thought he would never have again, a 'second chance'. Finch knew who and what Reese had been and what had happened to him, he offered him a job, a job that he had been excellent at.

"Well Mr. Finch…what did your machine find?" He watched as Finch stood up stiffly, moving awkwardly with a severe limp. He took a couple steps and turned back to the monitor that he had been sitting in front of. Reese still didn't know how Finch had been injured, an accident was all he would say, he was as tight lipped about his past as Reese was. Although Mr. Finch knew a whole lot more about him then Reese knew about Finch, but Reese was slowly making head way on that….Reese saw Finch adjust his glasses with his right hand and make a stiff gesture moving his whole upper body, pointing to the monitor.

His slender body was dressed in a brown suit and dark colored tie, grayish shirt His face was narrow, straight nose and wore thick dark framed glasses that gave him a bit of an owlish look to his eyes. His hair was dark, and stood on end on top of his head he also had long sideburns

Reese took the seat Finch had occupied and looked at the screen for several quiet minutes.

Finch fidgeted.

Frown lines crease Reese's brow, he drew a breath. "These are cargo manifests, once a month Taylor Gallery gets a shipment from Singapore." He glanced at Finch, seeing him nod. Reese studied the manifests; Finch had a dozen of them on the screen. Without looking at Finch, "They very in weight… they say they are paintings, art décor, furniture." He looked at Finch. "and none of them go through customs legally, these are all false inspection stamps, I know who did the stamp and this is his work." Reese pushed back from the console and stood up. "According to the manifests our Mr. Taylor gets deliveries the third week of the month, varying by a day or two, this is the third week." Reese moved away from the computer and toward the exit.

"Mr. Reese what are your plans?" A worried look came to Finch's face

"I'll be working late for the next few days Harold, keep the tea brewing.."


	2. Chapter 2

Reese had moved to a strategic spot across the street from the Taylor gallery, that was one of the great things about 5th Ave in Manhattan, every couple hundred feet was a small place to get coffee, a sandwich, breakfast or even lunch. Some even had tables set up outside their stores where people could sit and watch the world go by.

He had parked the bike back at the three story garage, two blocks up on Polk and walked to 'The Bistro' who's neon sign said "hot coffee and hot food" in an array of colors. He pulled his gaze away from the gallery store front as the waitress came back to his table, coffee pot in hand. She had been very attentive to him. Reese had had a lot of coffee. He smiled at the waitress, as she raised the coffee pot. "I think I've had enough, thank you." It was getting close to closing for the gallery.

She smiled back at him, she loved his voice, it was real sexy and he had been a very pleasant customer, she had tried to strike up a conversation with him but he politely indicated that he didn't want to talk, and he hadn't taken her up on any of the propositions she had offered. To bad, he was good looking. She pointed to the dinner plate that was sitting in front of him; he had ordered it and eaten half the sandwich. "Want me to bag that for you?" She saw those green eyes look at her. She really wanted to take him home.

"That would be nice, and could you put a slice of apple pie in with it and a coffee to go." He glanced across the street and saw the lights at the back of the gallery go off. David was getting ready to close down. He knew he had about ten minutes. He stood up and nodded toward the inside of The Bistro. "I'll meet you at the counter." He saw her pull the plate off the table and he stood and followed her inside; he went to use the restroom. He came out of the restroom and took a quick glance at the Gallery, seeing the second set of lights go out.

He stepped to the counter and paid the bill, leaving a nice tip. Taking the paper sack and the paper cup of coffee, he headed out the door and waited until David locked up and headed on down 5th Ave. Reese knew where he was headed. He moved smoothly in and among the people still on the street, keeping his subject in view. They got six blocks down and Reese made a slight little detour.

He stepped into an alleyway and walked back about ten yards to a pile of cardboard boxes and set the sack down with the coffee. "Old timer…" He rapped his knuckles against the box. "Supper is served." He heard a rustling in the box and turned and headed back to the street. He didn't wait to see the hand snaked out and pull the coffee in first and then the sack. He didn't need to, he knew the old man wouldn't have touched it if he had still been standing there. He stepped back out on the sidewalk to see David Taylor crossing the street and heading west. If nothing else he was a creature of habit. Reese crossed the street and slowly followed. He watched as his subject stepped up to a big man guarding a glass door entrance, the flashing sign over the top of it said Ravens. He shook hands with the bouncer and the bouncer stepped back and opened one side of the door.

Reese stopped, suddenly fading into the dark shadows of a recess in the wall; he looked up and down the street. The sidewalks were full of people. Most of them business professionals either heading for home by way of the subway station entrance a hundred feet back the way he had just come or heading for some unknown destination. Cars, taxies, freight trucks all moved toward the West on the one way street.

Something had alerted him, subconsciously, something had registered…but what?

His phone rang.

Reese didn't jump on the outside, but internally he came out of his skin. He momentarily closed his eyes and let the breath he had been holding out. The phone chirped again. Opening his eyes he continued to scan the street in front of him. He reached up and touched the ear bud, knowing Finch's ring. "Yes Harold…" He felt angry with himself for jumping at the ring, his voice was tight.

There was a hesitation… "Mr. Reese is everything alright?"

A dozen little quips popped into his head but when he answered his voice was level. "Too much coffee…" He let a silent sigh escape. Glancing toward the club doors he saw the bouncer smile at a tall, thin blond woman as he opened the door for her. Reese watched the bouncer watch the blond as she walked in. "You called?"

"Yes…I've found some more anomalies' in Mr. Taylor's back ground. All his past seems well documented, to well documented. I have transcripts from his schooling, Rhode Island School of Art, I accessed the year books…There is no David Taylor listed in any of them."

"Maybe he doesn't like having his picture taken." Reese's attention was on the street.

"That may be, but I called a fellow collogue-."

"You went to art school?" Reese blinked; a slight smile touched the corner of his lips. He continued to scan the street, the feeling had left, but he always paid attention to that gut reaction.

"As you know I hold several degrees Mr. Reese." Finch's voice carried a touch of disdain. "But…My Collogue did not remember a David Taylor...and according to the transcripts he would have been in a least five of his classes."

"Interesting…do you think it's all made up?"

"I think we need to proceed with the utmost of care Mr. Reese."

"I always proceed that way…" He was silent for a moment, his eyes still searching the street. "What about the cargo manifests, did you find a docking area?"

"That's another anomaly." Finch's voice carried a note of excitement. "It seems that even though all foreign cargo ships are to come into NY Port Authority ports, these ships came into Port 40, a commercial fishing dock."

"Anything else…?" Reese narrowed his vision to a window across the street and down three stores. Had someone been standing there?

"No, I am still searching though..."

Reese's lips pulled down in a frown, he couldn't see anything on the street or in the windows…But….

Reese moved out of the shadow of the building and headed toward the Club. "Ok, I'll check it out later when our boy goes to bed." He reached up and touched the ear bud and ended the conversation. His eyes still scanned the street. He just couldn't quite slip that feeling. He stepped up to the bouncer, he watched the bouncer give him the once over. Reese was dressed end of the day casual, blue pale collared shirt, no neck tie, dress coat, dress pants and dress shoes. He had been in here twice; he watched the bouncer's brown eyes as the man remembered him and opened the door for him. Reese nodded.

A blast of warm air hit him as he stepped into the dimly lit alcove that opened up into the larger bar area. Reese stepped to the side of the entrance and allowed his eyes to adjust to the dimness. The noise of the room waft over him as his other senses became adjusted: Perfume mixed with aftershave, mixed with a mass of warm bodies mixed, with the smell of alcohol assaulted his nose. The heat instantly made his shirt cling to his chest. His sight adjusted, he looked into the massive room.

The middle of the room was a round glass bar about fifty feet in diameter. There were clear plastic stools all around the bar. Behind the bar, going up to the ceiling were full length mirrored pillars that were four feet thick and spaced 72 inches apart. In-between each of the pillars there were TV screens. Each screen had a different event; horse racing, soccer, sports channel with three guys discussing football, a golf match and many other sports related shows as it went around the circle. Each quarter section of the bar had a bartender, and a bar station set up where either very seductively dressed waitresses or waiters went to have their drink orders from the floor area filled. The floor area consisted of clear plastic tables and chairs, about forty deep all around the bar. The place was filled to almost capacity.

Reese scanned the room as he stepped in, passing the restrooms and heading to the circular bar to the right side. He saw that his POI was sitting at the usual table, sitting with the same three men and two women he usually met. He slid onto an empty stool and waited for the bartender to see him. It didn't take long.

She was tall, extremely well built with long red hair that framed a very beautiful face. Her skin was the color of a pale peach, showing that the red hair was natural and she had the most emerald green eyes he had ever seen. She wore a skin tight Tee shirt that had the word Raven's across the front and tight pants and flats. She moved with a fluid grace, a woman who knew her body.

"JD straight, right?" Her voice was raised over the noise level. She smiled at him showing even white teeth. She saw him nod and she reached down, grabbed a double shot glass, set it in front of him, she knew he sipped it, and then without looking she reached behind her at the back-bar and grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniel black label. She poured a healthy amount into the glass and then slid it forward, her finger nails were long and painted red like her hair. She set the bottle under the bar. She liked the way he watched her, it wasn't a leer, there was appreciation in that look.

He looked at her and pushed a twenty toward her, tipping his head just slightly, giving her a smile.

She smiled back at him, winked and stabbed the twenty with one of her long nails and slid it to her. Turning she went to fill orders at the station.

Reese turned his attention to the room by way of the mirrors. He pulled the drink to him, had a sip and settled himself in. Taylor was usually here for two hours. The evening wore on. Two hours seemed like five. Finally…Reese turned his shoulder toward David Taylor so he was facing away from him as he walked by, toward the door.

Reese gave him to the door and then slid off the stool and he automatically scanned the room as he headed out. He had that feeling again. His eyes locked in on a woman near the entrance.

She was talking on the phone, as he looked at her, she glanced away. She was well dressed, business cloths, dark haired, just above the shoulder.

He tried to read her lips but she suddenly laughed and hung up, turning to a guy sitting next to her. Reese saw the guy looked mildly surprised.

He continued on and walked into the little alcove with the glass doors. He didn't see the bouncer at the door; he pushed the right side door open and stepped out into the cool night air. His mind registered several things at once; all of it went into slow motion.

As the glass door was closing he saw the reflection of the woman who had been on the cell phone coming behind him. Next he saw four men step from the cover of vehicles parked on the street, guns held in their hands pointed at him, he tried to reach for his weapon on his right side when the first round hit him in the back.

It wasn't a bullet, it was a tranquilizer dart. He felt it embed itself into the center of his back, four more hit him. Three penetrating his torso, one hit him in the neck. He fumbled for that one. Jerking it out as he brought his right hand up and fired at the nearest body to him. He saw the man jerk back and start to go down. He continued shooting; the rest disappeared back behind the cars.

Reese felt the drugs start to take affect. There was a buzzing in his ears; he gripped tighter on the gun, knowing that his coordination was now being compromised. '_**Move'**_ his mind screamed at him, he staggered sideways, trying to get to an alley, trying to get away.

'_Five shots.'_

His mind registered that thought... Some one…some one knew his tolerance level…He staggered on; he heard shouting over the buzzing sound that was bouncing around his head. He made the corner of the building and the alley and slammed into something, a trash can with the bouncer lying next to it. He spun back around and as fog filled his vision he saw a man in a long dark trench coat walking toward him. He felt himself slipping to the ground. He tried to keep himself upright, tried to bring his gun up, but the drugs were taking over. The last conscious thing he did was to slam the butt of his gun against his pocket and smash his cell phone. It was his last cognizant thought.

The woman stepped up to the man in the trench coat, looking down at the man she had shot in the back. "I can't believe he didn't drop with the first tranquilizer."

"His tolerance level is high, real high." He stepped forward, crouched down and took Reese's gun; he had to pry Reese's fingers from the gun. Fumbling in Reese's pocket, he found a smashed cell phone. He reached out and touched him on the shoulder, rolling him over on his back, pulling the rest of the darts out. His voice came in a whisper "Welcome home John."

A black van pulled up behind them, three men got out. They headed toward Reese.

The man in the trench coat stood up and moved back, he looked at the woman. "Get the mess cleaned up, run crowd control." He saw that the other agents had already gathered the man Reese had shot and had slipped him into one of the cars and were driving off. The three men from the van stooped and flipped Reese over on his stomach, quickly searched him and pulled his hands behind his back and cuffed him. Picking his limp body up they manhandle him into van.

The woman looked from the van to the man next to her. "Agent Snow, where are you taking him?" She didn't recognize the team from the van.

Agent Mark Snow turned and headed for the van, over his shoulder he answered her question. "N.T.K. Agent Cross." He climbed into the van and with a smug look on his lips he pulled the side door shut.

She watched the van drive off, four minutes had transpired since she had made the call that the man that matched the picture in her pocket was coming out. "Need to know…" She reached up with her middle finger and gestured toward the disappearing van. "NTK this, you asshole…" She turned and walked toward the waiting car.


	3. Chapter 3

Harold Finch had been standing sipping tea in front of the computer when Reese's tracking signal on the screen went suddenly red and then black. It meant that the tracking connection on the disposable cell phone had been terminated, either by being turned off, the battery being taken out or something physically happening to the phone itself.

"This is not good…" his face pulled down in a pensive look of worry. He put the tea cup down and sat in his chair.

Harold's hands flew over the keyboard; he tracked the last known address of where Reese had been, pulled all the video surveillance from traffic cameras. He found six retail stores and one club in that area had private surveillance cameras and quickly tapped into them. With-in ten minutes he had copied all the surveillance cameras from inside and outside Raven's, had copied the outside cameras from the Petite Boutique, Beezu's Dry Cleaning, the Corner Barber shop and Mongo Pizzeria which were directly across the street from Raven's. He put them all on separate windows and with expert precision he begin to view what had happened, he re-wound the Petite Boutique tape, it was the one that caught most of what went on in front of Raven's, watching in reverse what had happened. Finch fast reversed it until he saw John coming out of the Raven and then he set it into play mode.

He sat horrified. He saw the flash of muzzle fire from inside Raven's, saw John start to react and saw the four men who had been crouched down behind the cars stand up and step around firing at Reese. He saw Reese's gun muzzle flash, saw him grab at his neck, saw a man go down, he watched as Reese stagger toward the alleyway and then saw him turn back and his gun hand moved down toward his pocket as he fell to the asphalt. He saw a woman come out of Raven's, a gun held in the ready, she lowered it as she looked sideways, she move to a man who was walking from behind a car. Finch saw a van pull up, watched as the man in the trench coat crouched over John. He stood and backed up a couple steps, letting the three men from the van bundle Reese up and manhandle him into the waiting van.

Finch's fingers tapped over the keyboard and he enlarged the frame that he had frozen, Agent Mark Snow's face was captured. Finch went from horrified to terror.

Finch rocked in his chair. His eyes went to the time stamp on the frozen video to the clock on the computer. Thirty minutes had now gone by. He did the only thing he could think of…He picked up his cell phone and started dialing.

POI

Mark Snow sat on the bench inside the cargo area of the van looking down at John. He marveled one more time at the fluke that had happened. He had been standing inside the dry cleaning store, picking up his order. He was irritated because his partner, who he considered his personal flunky, had been sent on another assignment. He glared at the woman behind the counter as she hung his clothing on the rack. She had asked him for his ticket, he told her he didn't have it, and gave her his name…then she had the audacity to ask him for ID. He pulled his false ID out and showed it to her. He tossed the money on the counter and grabbed his clothing off the rack. Mumbling about inept people he turned and headed to the door. As a normal procedure he stopped, scanning the street, looking for anything that would draw his attention and there, across the street was John Reese. He knew his jaw had dropped. He'd been searching for John for months now, and wham, there he was. He stepped back when he saw John "sense" him.

Predator to predator instinct.

He watched as John had stepped into the shadows of the building, looking for what had alerted him. He observed John scrutinize the street. Mark remained frozen, not looking at John directly, but keeping him in the corner of his eye, he saw Reese's interest in the club across the street. Mark saw John's expression change and watched as he closed his eyes for a long moment, when he opened them there was a touch of anger on his face. If Mark had not known John so well he would not have seen the change, but it was there. Mark saw John reach up and touch his right ear. He saw his lips move but it was too far to read them. Beside the fact that John had always spoken tight lipped, they all learned that in the CIA.

Mark Snow's heart skipped a beat. John Reese was working for someone, they had suspected it was Detective Carter, but what Mark was seeing here was way too covert. And Carter had remained in the parking garage when John had gotten away wounded…There was someone else. John was on the hunt that was obvious. He was tailing someone, but Mark didn't care, he wanted to know who Reese was trusting these days… Who?

Snow saw John smile and continue to talk. This was someone John trusted, then he saw John turn his interest back to the club Raven's, they all watched the tall blond woman go in. Mark faded back into the depths of the dry cleaning store and reached into his pocket. As John had finished the conversation and headed to the Club, Mark Snow started laying the trap. They were going to get their rogue CIA back…

And it had worked. John Reese was stretched out before him, laying bound to a medical back board, There was a strap across his forehead, across his chest, three straps held each arm down, one across his hips, and three across his legs.

There was an IV bag hanging from a rod, it had been hung and inserted into his right arm with-in three minutes of getting him strapped in. It would keep him quiet until they got to the safe house and then Mark Snow would get the answers he had been looking for.

A med tech leaned forward over John's prone body and lifted an eye lid. He had been monitoring his patient's vital signs; they were getting dangerously low. His hand started toward the adjuster on the tubing. A steal hand clamped on his wrist, he looked from the adjuster to a pair of cold blue eyes staring at him. He looked at Agent Snow. "I need to reduce the flow." His voice was like gravel.

"No…His body can handle it…" Snow stared at the med tech; the last thing he wanted was for John to come out of his induced sleep in this van.

"Between the overdose of the tranquilizer and the QC10, his vitals have dropped another 5%...If he goes into a coma, he won't come out…" He looked down at his patient's color. "I need to cut it back, now!" He felt Snow's grip loosen and he twisted his wrist out of his grip. He leaned in toward Snow as he turned the dial back a couple clicks. "You interfere with me again and it won't be him" He indicated with a nod of his head at his patient as he locked eyes with Snow. "You have to worry about."

Mark Snow wasn't stupid. He saw the look in those dark eyes. He knew this med tech/agent had been recruited five years ago and was one of the best when it came to mixing drugs. He also knew he had been a Green Beret, got board there and became a member of the Navy Seals and had over 30 confirmed kills on covert operations. "Dillon, his drug tolerance is extreme-."

"I can see that." Dillon Flint had turned his attention back to the monitoring machines, seeing the heart beat pick up, he ran a blood pressure check and was satisfied. He had seen the scars on his patient as he had applied the EKG tabs to his body. This guy had seen service. There was still a very fresh scar on his left side, bullet from the looks of it. He watched as all the vitals evened out. He disliked Snow's attitude, he was an arrogant idiot as far as Dillon was concerned. But, Dillon had been asked by his Chief to help Snow and Dillon would do anything for his Chief.

POI

Harold Finch looked up from his laptop as the door opened. He watched as a well dressed black woman carefully came into the room, a gun on her hip and a badge clipped to her belt.

Detective Joss Carter slipped into the room giving it a once over, she didn't trust anyone. She was a single mom of a teenager; she had military training and had been a homicide cop for several years now and was honest to a fault. Her dark eyes surveyed the room. She could tell by Harold's voice on the phone that something was wrong. She frowned. No Reese. She glanced toward the corner of the room, Reese had a way of coming out of the wood work when you least expected him.

Finch had called Detective Carter and asked her to meet him at the Public Library. He booked the room and called her back with the number. He downloaded his laptop with all the video. He left the command post, as Mr. Reese called it, and headed to the meeting with Carter. Mr. Reese was the only other person who knew about the command post and The Computer. And Harold was going to keep it that way.

He had been able to track the van to the turn pike and then had lost them. A Couple of malfunctioning cameras in a twenty mile span had caused the loss of the van. He had the van going past mile marker 127 but the next working camera, mile post 148 did not show them, it meant they had turned off some place in between. He had downloaded the area map. He was also running secondary scans in the back ground looking for any link to the area and the CIA, it was a long shot but….

"So…Harold…what's going on" She walked around the desk so that she was standing at his side, her eyes still scanned the room, then she looked back at the computer as Harold pointed to the screen.

"I need you to watch something…" His voice was anxious sounding. He gave her a sideways glance which was hard for him to do with the neck and back injures. His fingers tapped the keyboard and the image from the Petite Boutique was cued up just as John was coming out the club door. They both watched in silence as John was again shot five times.

Carter leaned forward. "Those are darts, he was tranquilized…My Lord… I can't believe he's still on his feet." She watched to the end, seeing Reese finally go down and saw Mark Snow turn around, "That's agent Snow…" she saw the female agent give him the finger… "My sentiments exactly…" She looked at Harold. "Could you follow the van?" then she had another thought, this was video surveillance. "How did you get this…?"

"Another time Detective Carter…I followed the van out onto the turn pike, I lost them-" He cued an aerial map up, he was using the image live from the US Spectral SIE satellite, the one that could read a news paper over someone's shoulder. "somewhere between mile 127 to 148, this is the area they are probably in. In the time it took you to get here I have found that there are 27 homes in this area, not very populated, and I think we can rule three of them out."

She gave him a sideways glance like he was strange little being…creepy that's what she was really thinking. She saw that he had accessed the SIE satellite seeing the link up in the corner, more then once in her military career she had seen that link. She wanted to ask how he accessed a military satellite but knew she would just get that blank stare. "That's still a lot of land to cover…I don't-."

His computer beeped, a small window popped up. Finch immediately selected the blinking window and another window popped up giving a window with small writing on it.

He tapped a couple keys and saw the search he had sent out come back with: list of names=match=cia=address=snow=%$rr148box3%…

Finch came near to jumping out of his chair. "I have a match for the area, Snow and an address." Finch adjusted his glasses. His hands flew over the computer keyboard and he brought the aerial map back up and typed in the address. The picture zoomed out, moved like it was skimming the surface and then zoomed back in the picture focused showing a very heavily wooded area, a clearing with a fair sized two story house. A black van parked at the side of it. Harold's fingers flew over the keyboard; the satellite's camera zoomed in and focused in on the license plate of the van. It was a match. Harold came to his feet stiffly; he turned to look at detective Carter. "Just tell me what you need?" He did not understand the look she gave him….

POI

John felt like his head was going to explode. He forced his muddled thinking to center on something, his heart beat; he could feel that pulsing in his chest. It was slow and steady. With determination he mastered a single thought, _he was alive. Control, Way of the Warrior…Condition: he was tightly bound to something hard, he lay on his back. Awareness: He could here a monitor beeping. Path of least resistance: lay still, assess…_

"I know you are awake."

He heard the gravely voice speak softly to him. The voice was down near his feet.

"Keep your eyes closed. I am going to give you something for the headache, just enough to take the edge off," The voice moved closer to his head. "Not enough to make you sleep, just comfortable…I want you comfortable John."

He tried to think through the pounding in his head…._Reese, he was John Reese…He had been doing something…following someone…_warmth begin to spread up his arm, he suddenly tasted something sweet…saliva filled his mouth and he had to swallow hard…_concentrate…He knew this taste…Chinese sweet root…_the headache lessened, the pounding in his temples slowed…the spikes of pain that had been shooting around in his brain slowed and then stopped.

He wanted to sigh but he continued to breathe as he had been…_Control…control to survive…wait… assess the enemy...assess the danger._

There was a slight click in the room.

"Ok John, the lights are off, it's just the lights from the monitors…open your eyes.

He didn't want to, but he found himself blinking his eyes open, what little light that was in the room was like thousand watts of blinding light hitting him. He closed his eyes tightly, feeling tears forming under his eye lids and running down his cheeks. He clamped down on the inside of his cheek with his teeth to remain silent.

"I am sorry John, it's alright the pain will subside…" The voice was still soft with even tones. "I am going to get a few things and when I come back you'll be feeling better."

John fought the stinging pain in his eyes. It was like a thousand needles had been inserted. He tasted blood, his own; he'd bitten the inside of his cheek_. Silence…Way of the Warrior...give no quarter…Focus…Make your body relax…_The pain in his head eased and as it did the pain in both eyes subsided. John Reese swallowed the blood and saliva in his mouth and listened. He was not alone. It wasn't the man who had spoken to him, there was someone else in the room, he could hear their breathing, it was different then the other man.

John realized the pounding in his head was almost gone. He heard the others footsteps.

"Good John your stats are down…I'm sorry they used the dog tranquilizers on you, I didn't get there soon enough. There was a moment when the voice was silent. "Don't flinch."

John didn't react, something cool was laid along his eye lids, liquid.

"Good John, you didn't flinch… you can open your eyes again…This numbing agent will help with the pain, it was caused by to much of the dog tranquilizer, one of the bad side effects it can cause. That's it…open…blink the liquid into the eye"

John again didn't want to open his eyes but he did, he did as he was told…Fear rolled into his stomach, he did not panic. He closed his eyes and tried to squeeze them tight. _Fight it…refuse command…go to safe place…do not listen…go to safe place_.

"Well John I see you have detected that you are in a control induced drug-."

John blocked out the voice, blocked out the words he was hearing. He sent his mind to a memory…a memory of a long time ago.

"He knew you were in the room." Dillon looked up from the readout on the brainwave monitor to Agent Snow who was sitting across the room where he had been told to sit and be still. "I've lost him…"

Snow launched up out of the chair and his eyes narrowed at Dillon, there was anger in his movements. "I never moved…I-."

"I told you he would know someone else was in the room, that's why I wanted you in the observation booth." Dillon walked around to the hanging bags of liquid that were attached to John's arm. "Now I have to start over…it will be several hours now before I can start again" He looked across the gurney that John was strapped to. He locked eyes with Snow. "Get out…" His voice never changed pitch, but the meaning was there…

Mark Snow for one long minute wanted to stride the short distance across the semi trailer floor and put a bullet in this man, but he still needed him. He knew that torture would not get John to talk and he had heard how well Dillon Flint's methods worked. He turned and walked to the observation booth and then continued out the back of that room and out of the Semi's trailer…Snow stalked down the portable steps of the trailer and headed over the small safe house.

Dillon Flint looked down at his subject. He saw that John had gone to that place in his head where they all went when they had to flee the pain, but pain was not Dillon's method…. "You will come around…just have to mix the right cocktail…"


	4. Chapter 4

He could smell spice, coffee and a woman's perfume as if John was actually there. In his mind he was. It was 2002; he was in Sile just north of Istanbul Turkey. They had been here for a week and he was bored. Walking out onto the villa patio that extended out over the cliff, he went to the walled edge and looked out. Taking a deep breath he drew in the smell of the sea. Looking down, he could see the bottom of the cliff a half mile below, his eyes tracked along the green field and over to the small park that was this side of Inceyol Sk, the street that lay between the park and the Black Sea. There were several boats and two ships tied up at the docks and he studied them for a long moment.

His hair was mussed. He was half dressed, white unbuttoned shirt tucked roughly into his belted dress pants, his sleeves were turned up showing tan forearms. He was bare foot. He lifted the coffee cup to his lips and drank the strong brew. He drew in a deep breath and held it for a long moment. It was peaceful here. Here he wanted to stay, for the first time in a long time there was some down time…Down time…why did he need down time…

"John?" it was a soft feminine voice that called to him.

He slowly turned around. His green eyes took in the woman walking out of the Villa.

She was wearing the deep burgundy gown from the night before. Her dark long hair was mussed, framing a beautiful face. She smiled that seductive smile as she walked toward him. As she closed the distance between them the smile faded and the smile went into her dark eyes. Slowly her hand came up from her side where it had been hid in the folds of her gown. She lifted the Glock 17 9MM FS and pointed it directly at him..."Sorry John." She pulled the trigger.

Reese's body jerked. He sucked in a breath and tried to reach for his chest but his hands were bound. Opening his eyes it took him a few moments to focus. He was strapped against a board. He looked to his right and saw the IV going into his arm, there were several machines with blinking lights, he recognized a couple. His right arm was strapped down at the wrist and above the elbow to a small covered straight board; the board was strapped to the extension on the table. He flexed his body and found his torso was strapped down at the waist; his legs were tied at the ankles only. He rolled his head to the left; it was when he realized his head was free. He saw there were three straps holding his left arm: upper arm, elbow and wrist. He raised his head and tried to look around the room, it was dimly lit. There was some kind of glass room down toward his feet; he arched his neck, looking back over his shoulder, more equipment and a wall.

He lay back and remained quiet, the exertion of moving showed that he had been laying prone for a very long time. He wet his lips and closed his eyes. _'Ok , what do you remember?' _He kept his eyes closed; he sensed something, movement, the room, the building, what ever it was that he was in, moved.

Footsteps.

He could hear footsteps. There was a change in the air in the room, a door had opened, then he heard the door coming into the room open and he heard the soft tread of the man who belonged to the soft gravely voice. He listened as the man came to his side…He waited.

"Well John I see you've been active…tested our bonds from the looks of it…Right?"

Reese opened his eyes and looked at the man leaning over him. He was tall, built very athletic. Broad muscled shoulders, narrowed waist, his hair was blond and cut military short, Marines he thought from the style. But his eyes were what caught John's attention. They were deep blue and dead. John knew that look. He had seen it for a lot of years when he looked in the mirror.

"John, my name is Dillon." He reached up and injected something into the line that was running into John's arm. "and I am here to de-brief you. The other junk they shot into you is just about out of your system. I am an expert at what I do and in the end you will answer all my questions and tell me everything I want to know."

John gave a sardonic smile. "Give it your best shot." He felt the effects of what ever was being injected into him, a funny buzzing in his ears. It didn't feel like sodium pentothal.

"Oh John, this isn't Pentothal…" Dillon smile, showing even white teeth. "No…No...My man…I wouldn't waste that on you-."

Reese felt a touch of panic. He didn't think he had spoken out loud. He started blocking out Dillon's voice, he set his jaw. _'Don't listen, find a safe spot, fix your eyes on something, the ceiling…yes the ceiling, there is a spot of black on the ceiling.'_

"There, take it easy John, a little panic I see…Come now John…don't tune me out…I don't like it when you do that." He reached for another syringe. Lifting it he transferred the liquid into the I.V. bag. "Sorry John guess were going to have to take a little trip." His soft gravelly voice never changed pitch, there was no anger. He knew it did no good. Just like he knew that torture would do no good. This subject had been tortured and still had not given up his knowledge…But there were other ways…dreams…. "All right John lets see what a little dreaming can do for you." He looked over at the read-out that came from the small electrodes that were attached at the base of John's head and neck. He had invented this himself and had found that when the subject went into the induced dream state he could distinguish between the good and bad, and with the right chemical mix…he could open up their mind like a book. "That's it my friend… starting to dream…yes, there you are…pleasant isn't it…Looks like your some place far off…"

John Reese found himself in a dirty alley. He was cold and hungry. He looked down and saw the pint he held in his hand and raised it to his lips, it was a quarter full. He finished it. It didn't burn going down, nothing burned anymore. He didn't feel, didn't care…as long as he had a bottle of booze. Reaching inside the heavy jacket he wore he searched for the other pint. His hands fumbled around in the pockets and came up empty. Empty, that's what he wanted to be. He staggered to his feet and drew a bead on the liquor store across the street from his alley and started toward it…

"I know you can hear me John…"

He spun around in the alley.

"Yes, see the little blips, you can hear me…now let's follow orders John…Follow my voice John…where are you?"

John Reese looked around the dark alley, he was hallucinating; another drink would take care of that problem. He stumbled across the street and opened the door. Walking up to the counter he pulled his hand out of his pocket and threw money on it. He didn't speak; the owner of the place knew what he wanted…_didn't speak_

With-in his mind a small thought formed. '_It is a matter of life and death, a road either to safety or to ruin. The Art of War…by Sun Tzu…Way of the Warrior...to speak could lead to death.'_

John looked at the owner of the liquor store and saw that it was not the man he remembered. It was a man with blond hair and dead blue eyes.

The man smiled "Where are you John?" Dillon opened the drip a little wider. "John, look around and, **tell me** where you are?"

Opening his eyes he turned toward the voice. He wasn't sure he could do what he wanted to do. His vision was fuzzy. In his dream he leaned in, over the counter, drawing the blond haired man closer to him. He mumbled something, seeing the blond head move down and turn his ear toward his mouth. John didn't have much room but it was survival instinct that took over.

John Reese closed his eyes and reared his head up with as much power as he could muster and slammed his forehead into the ear that loomed in his fuzzy vision. He thought he did some kind of damage because his head hurt. He didn't hear any noise except the beeping sound in the back ground. He opened his eyes and saw a blurry figure standing to his side, holding his head and there was blood.

John closed his eyes, drew a deep breath, went back to the liquor store, taking the bottle of Four Roses off the counter, he walked back to his alley. There, he hunkered down and waited.

POI

Joss Carter moved through the trees like it was second nature to her. She didn't like the little ear bud she wore but she forgot about it as she saw the house and the van come into view. It was near dusk and she surveyed the scene. She moved another hundred feet closer. Everything looked quiet, to-

"Detective Carter…?"

She jumped a little, the anxious voice spoke in her ear.

"Are you-."

"Harold, give a girl a little warning would you." She hissed it back at him. Her voice was a tense whisper.

"Uh…I…What-." Finch stammered. He was stuck at HQ…. He hadn't wanted to, but Detective Carter had been adamant he was not coming with her.

"Clear your throat or something." She smiled and shook her head; she drew a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. "Ok, I have a visual on the van and the house. I don't see any movement or lights."

"Can you give me a visual?"

"Oh yeah…I forgot, the little gizmos you gave me…"

"Gizmos…" His voice went up an octave. "That is a-."

"Do you want me to use the gizmo or not?" She was digging around in the back pack he had sent with her. She saw there were night vision glasses, a hand held Thermograph camera and three different miniature cameras, she grabbed the one he had told her to use first.

Finch stopped and drew a calming breath, his eyes behind the glasses narrowed a little. "Yes Detective Carter…please use the little gizmo." His voice carried a patronizing tone to it. He waited half a beat. "If there is not something to clamp it onto, on the side, next to the on button, there is a knife like attachment you-."

A bleep in the corner showed the camera was on, Finch hit the flashing blip and Detective Carter's face flashed across the screen, there were several jerky movements: her hand, face, the darkening sky and then it was stabbed into a tree.

"Yes I can see the house and van…" He tapped a couple keys and moved the camera to the low light filter. It turned his screen, green. "Detective Carter…I can see one person in the house, the window on the left…second story…use the night vision glasses, they have not turned on any lights yet."

"Ok." Joss pulled the glasses from the pack and slipped it over her head; adjusting the straps she then adjusted the glasses. Her vision turned spooky green. She had only used these kinds of glasses a couple times in the army. "Got him…" The room light came on and she lost him in the flash. She lifted up the glass portion, blinking her eyes to readjust to the darkness.

"Detective Carter, there are surveillance cameras outside." Finch adjusted his glasses. A worried look crossed his face, he had not found them when he had scanned the house with the Satellite, he had not seen any cameras. He had even run a power grid on the house, looking for any anomalies. "Wait…Let me see what I can do." His hands flew over the keyboard.

Detective Carter saw the man in the upper window move out of sight, after a minute or two a light came on downstairs. "Harold, are you still there?"

"Yes Detective…I am here…I am trying to access the surveillance..." his voice sounded stressed. "It is a private company monitoring it and…There…I am in…" Harold looked at the computer screen. A puzzled look touched his face. "Detective Carter…I…" His finger flew over the keyboard. "Well that answers that question."

"What was the question Harold?" Joss saw the figure moved into what she thought was the kitchen and get something, then he went to the other room, looked like a TV was turned on, she assumed he had dropped onto a couch or a chair.

"Sorry Detective…It's not a private company…it redirected the ID, It's the CIA…and all the cameras are off on the outside.

"Well that's strange." She started to move forward. "I'm going to take a peak in a window." She moved forward, moving away from the cover of the trees. She crossed to the house and sided up next to the window.

"Uhmm." The voice in her ear was soft.

She whispered. "Yes Harold?" She glanced into the large living room, seeing one man sprawled out on a couch, watching TV.

"Use the third camera I gave you, the real small one. It has a microphone in it. Set it against the glass and we can hear inside."

She moved back from the edge of the window and reached into the bag, her hand found the small camera and she pulled it out. She looked at it. "Where do you get these things?"

She swore she heard Finch smile.

"John brings them; he has a lot of excellent devices." There was pride in his voice.

She pushed the little button on the top of the camera and carefully pealed a little piece of tape off the camera and pushing the lens against the window she stuck the camera to the sill.

The tv was saying there was going to be a change in the weather and in thirty seconds they were going to talk about the top stories of the day. It went to a commercial for laundry soap. They could hear snoring…the man was asleep.

Joss could hear what Harold could. "Harold I am going to take a look around the house…This doesn't feel right, I don't think John is here." She peaked in all the lower windows and found that the guy sprawled out on the couch looked like the only person in the house. She went over to the Van and looked around it. She pulled the night vision glasses down and looked at the ground. She could see where a four legged cart had been brought up to the side of the van, the cart, now she was thinking gurney, was rolled over to a spot about ten feet away and the tracks disappeared. Looking at the ground she saw deep dual tire tracks…A semi…"Harold, John's not here…I think they loaded him in a semi…there are tracks leading out, back toward the road." Joss turned and headed for the trees, using the night vision glasses to get there safely.

"Where are you going?" Finch could see her in the camera from the tree.

"I'm leaving." She made the tree line, feeling a little safer now.

"Leaving!"

Joss jumped, Harold's voice had gone up several octaves.

"You can't leave; you have to question the man inside the house. He probably knows where they took Mr. Reese." There was a touch of anger in his voice.

She whispered into the night…"I don't have any probable cause to-."

"Probable cause…we need-."

"Harold, I'm a cop…I can't go busting in on someone just because the van is there…Reese isn't there…" She headed back toward where she had parked the car.

Harold stared at the video feed of the inside of the house. Yes, she was a cop; she had rules to follow…

"Harold you have to understand -."

He didn't. "Thank you Detective Carter." He turned the cell phone off.

She stopped and looked into the night. "Damn, this isn't good…"

Harold Finch sat there for a long moment, staring at the screen. He reached up, out of habit and adjusted his glasses. His eyes narrowed. Reaching out he took up his cell phone, punching a number in. "I need your services, yes both of you…" He listened for a moment. "Thirty minutes is fine, I will text you the address where to pick me up." He listened again. "Yes, you might want to come armed…and no I have what I will need. Thank you." Finch stood up stiffly and headed for the back of the library, headed for Mr. Reese's arsenal. "I will not let you down Mr. Reese…" He limped down the corridor, determination crossing his face…"I will find you…"


	5. Chapter 5

Please note*** if I have made a mistake with the names of the two henchmen/personal guards that Finch used in the pilot I apologize…I never got their names… Warning***Violence and cuss words… But please read and Review...thank you

Finch stood at the edge of the street. His hands were shoved down into the pockets on the camel hair long coat. He stood stiffly, looking straight across the street as a group of teens walked by. It was late. They didn't seem to notice him. He moved his whole upper body to look down at the large duffle bag next to his feet on the left hand side. He wasn't sure what he needed, he didn't understand all the things he had put in the bag but if they looked dangerous he brought it. Against his judgment he also had what he thought was a thirty eight special. He didn't like guns be he knew how to work one of those so he had put it in the bag. On the other side of his feet was the bag containing his laptop and support equipment that he needed to keep in touch wirelessly, with the computer.

Twisting slightly as headlights turned onto the street he recognized his limo. The dark car pulled up to the curb and stopped. A grey haired man got out of the passenger front seat. "Hey Boss…" He stepped to the back door and opened it for Finch. Then reached and took the computer bag off the sidewalk and handed it to Finch after he got in. He pointed to the other bag.

"Damson please put it on the back seat next to me."

Damson bent and hefted the bag, giving his employer a sharp look. He knew Mr. Finch didn't like weapons and from the sound and feel of the bag it was full of such things. He swore he felt the muzzle of a grenade launcher against his leg. Damson had been in the protection business long enough to know there were some lethal things in there. He walked around to the driver's side, opened the back door and carefully placed the bag on the seat. He shut the door and hustled around to the front passenger side and heard the tail end of an address as he buckled in.

It was out of town a ways. Neither he nor his partner asked any questions. They were well paid, very loyal and did as asked.

POI

Dillon Flint looked across the room at Mark Snow. "He is in third stage now…He is constantly dreaming and I want to keep him there for at least another hour. His mind is finally accepting what I am doing. He is having multi-dreams; both nightmarish and pleasant. I will administer the scopolamine-Thioridazine based cocktail, with the two other cocktails I have given him, this will keep him from becoming nauseated and will open his mind. He should be so far under by then we will have him eating out of our hand.

Snow glared across the room at Dillon. "Just be sure he doesn't bite that hand." So far all John had done was bloody Dillon's ear and lay there and twitch. He had moaned a couple times and shouted 'No' once. Mark Snow turned and left the observation room. This was taking too long.

Dillon waited until Snow had left. He took a syringe off the table and injected it directly into Reese's body. "Ok, that will send you off for awhile." He reached up and patted John on the shoulder. "Dream well my man…" Bending down he got close to Reese's ear. He clicked a small recorder/player on "What are you keeping secret…what are you holding back…Tell me John…whisper it to me…" He set it next to John's head. It looped back around. "What are you keeping secret…what are you holding back…Tell me John…whisper it to me…" He straightened up and walked into the observation room, sitting, waiting, watching his monitors from in there.

POI

Finch had accessed the laptop, brought there live camera images up. The van was still parked where it had been and things all looked the same. About three hours had gone by since Detective Carter had walked away from the house. Finch had them drive down the lane to the house with the limo lights off. He had them stop before they got within hearing distance. He tapped into the security cameras making sure they were still not working. "Gentlemen I would like you to put these on before you enter the house." He had unzipped the duffel bag and produced two full ski masks. He saw them look at each other, but they didn't say a word.

Damson reached back and took the masks.

"There is one subject inside the house, but please, be careful and do a scan when you get him restrained." Harold reached into the bag and brought out a black bag, and a zip lock bag with a cloth in it and several feet of rope. "The plastic bag has a chloroformed cloth in it. I would like him sitting in a chair, firmly tied with this bag over his head…And please find his ID." He handed it all to Damson who took it. "When everything is secure, could one of you come get me…" He didn't think he could carry the duffel bag over the uneven ground. He watched as his men got out of the limo and head toward the house. Looking at the laptop he could see that the man on the couch was still there and still asleep.

Harold Finch's two employees as they headed to the house spoke to one another.

Damson the shorter and older looking of the two, glanced over at his dark hair partner. "First that bum that he cleaned up and now this?"

The younger man continued a couple steps. "Dam…the pay is excellent, we live in a mansion, we got a cook and house cleaners and we might work a few days a month…" He grinned into the night… "For that I'll tie some guy to a chair." He pulled the ski mask over his head and pulled the berretta out that he carried.

They stepped up onto the porch area; Damson looked over at his masked partner… "True but I think were going to miss the fun part." He tucked the head cover in his pocket and pulled his own ski mask on, pulling out his short barreled 45. He carried the plastic bag in his free hand.

They tried the door and found it open. Walking in they went to the couch in front of the TV and found a medium sized man stretched out, snoring loudly, TV remote on his chest. They looked at each other for a long minute, listening. There were no other sounds. Damson looked at his partner, who nodded and taking the chloroformed cloth out of the bag, he bent down and firmly placed it over the sleeping man's nose and mouth.

The guy on the couch woke up with a start, but a fist to the center of his chest and a big inhale settled him right back on the couch.

Damson swept the house while his partner found a sturdy chair and search for the guy's wallet; he found it in his front pants pocket. Together they tied the guy to the chair and then Damson waited while his partner went back and brought the limo up. Before Mr. Finch walked in he placed the bag over their captive's drooping head. Damson saw the puzzled look his partner gave him as he and Mr. Finch walked in. His partner nodding to the duffel bag, he had realized the same thing when he lifted it out, this was some kind of weapons bag. He set it down on the table.

Finch had taken a moment to scramble any and all signals that might come from the house; the TV screen was full of snow. "Thank you gentleman, please wait in the car…"

Finch saw them exchange looks, but Damson handed him the guy's wallet and they went out, shutting the door behind them.

Finch inspected the wallet, drivers licenses, name Roberto Alverez, 33, the van belonged to him. There was a couple hundred in cash, small bills, and a card containing several phone numbers with three prefixes from Washington DC. He figured Roberto was a low level CIA operative. Finch looked around the room for a few minutes. He went over to the duffel bag, it had been left on the table so Finch didn't have to bend, he unzipped the bag. He reached in and started pulling things out, laying them on the table. He thought the first thing was a small compact machine gun, the next was a canister of something, and then his hands felt the long rod he was looking for. He pulled it out and inspected it. It was a heavy duty cattle prod, it said so on the side of it. 'use for livestock only'

Finch looked at it with a touch of worry on his face. Determination cross his features, his lips drew down in a grimace.

Looking around the room for another couple minutes he finally limped over toward the bound man. Without pressing the button he tentatively used the end to push the man's head a little.

There was a groan.

He poked the man in the shoulder. "Mr. Alverez…please, wake up." He pushed at the shoulder again, seeing the black bag roll around a little then it straightened up and moved side to side.

"What the fuck is going on…?" The voice was a little hoarse; he pulled and twisted at the ropes that held him. "What the hell-."

"Mr. Alverez…You may call me Mr. Hawk…" Finch's voice was flat and even. He stepped closer, not touching the button on the prod he pressed it into Alverez' shoulder. "You have some information I require, it is my understanding that this prod generates a lot of voltage." He pushed on the handle slightly. "I am not familiar with this equipment and I may miss use it and accidently kill you…I hope that doesn't happen, if you tell me what I want I will leave you here in peace. I want you to tell me where they took John Reese, the man that arrived in your van earlier today-"

"What the fu-."

Mr. Finch hit the button, holding it for a several seconds. He watched as the man twitched, screamed and tried to move away from the prod. He released the button and heard Alverez sucked in a breath and a dark stain spread on the front of his pants.

Worry crossed Finch's face. "Mr. Alverez, where is John-."

"You scum ball I'm gonna-."

Finch had lowered the prod a little, down toward Alverez' stomach, he hit the button and jabbed it against his shirt. He watched as Alverez bucked and screamed in the chair.

He counted to six and let up.

Alverez vomited, it spewed out from under the hood and down his front.

"Mr. Alverez…I am going to give you one more chance and then I am going to prod you lower…do you understand?" For effect, he jabbed the prod into Alverez' groin, not pressing the button, it did what he wanted.

Alverez screamed. "No…No…I'll tell you…I'll tell you…" He was crying under the hood. "Please...no more." His voice trailed off.

He did not talk fast enough. Finch jabbed him again in the groin. "I can't hear you-."

"Semi…they loaded him into a semi…in the trailer…on a gurney…"

"Was there a name on the truck or the trailer?" Finch adjusted his glasses; he still had the prod pressed into the other's groin, he leaned against it.

"Loomis Trucking on the semi doors out of Oklahoma …Trailer number 3348, tags out of West Virginia…" He twitched hard when Finch leaned in on the prod…

"Why, do you know this information?" Finch was having doubts that it was real.

"They sent me to bring the Semi in with that special trailer…" He sucked in a breath. "They needed the trailer picked up and brought here for the man your asking about…Snow said it had to be here when **He** got here…I drove straight through. That's why I was sleeping I'd worked eighteen hours before they called me. I was the one closet one to the rig…I drove it here…"

Finch stepped back, looking at the hooded man. "What's so special about the trailer?"

Alverez was silent.

Finch put the prod against his groin.

"It's some weird medical unit…all sound proof…All kinds of medical stuff in it…That's all I know….I swear…that's all I know…its Dillon Flint's rig…he's some kind of drug expert…." Finch backed up and set the prod back on the table. He had a trailer number and trucking company…and now he had a name…He reached into his pocket and pulled his cell phone out and pressed the button, then he remembered he had scrambled any signal. He looked at the phone for a moment, his palms felt sweaty, his heart rate was up. He didn't like violence. He slowly moved toward the window where he could see the limo and signaled his men. "I am sorry about this Mr. Alverez." He headed back to the table with the bag on it.

They came in the door a few minutes later, both still with their Ski masks on. Finch nodded to the bag that he had repacked and he headed to the door.

Damson stepped closest to Roberto, seeing the wet stain on his pants and the flow of vomit down his front. His nose wrinkled in disgust. He shook his head slightly… "Do we kill him boss?" He saw Roberto's body stiffen. He reached for the bag as he saw Mr. Finch turn stiffly toward him…

Finch turned back around and walked out of the house.

POI

John Reese allowed the little spot in his mind to open up. It was time. He allowed that corner to work freely, independent of the rest of his mind. It was what had kicked in that night in the Subway when the kids had attacked him. It was what took over automatically no matter what else was going on, like the screaming nightmare that was unfolding, the nightmare that he had had for a lot of years when he was in the rangers, the airborne. He had made the Special Forces dream team, the elite group that were four men teams. They spirited in, for their country, silently killed their targets and then left. Their team calling card was a round copper disk that they left on the kill. All that was stamped on it was a number. They were up to number twenty when it happened.

John had been Two, following One, Three was at his back and Four had three's back, the disk had been left and they had come back down the stairs and reached the second floor hall…fifty feet to go and they would be out of the house. That's when the ten year old boy stepped out of the room between him and One.

John reacted instantly, letting go of his closely strapped gun, he reached out and grabbed the boy by the back of his head and using his other hand clamped it over his mouth. He lifted up slightly. The boy had been half asleep as he had stepped out. Struggling, now awake and looking at John with dark wide eyes full of fear, he tried to get away. John saw the large hand come around the front of the boy's throat and the dark knife cut through his tender flesh.

Warm blood spurted over John's hands and face. He saw the terror in the frightened eyes. He watched as the boy died between his hands. It wasn't his first close kill, but it was the first child. Gently he laid the boy at his feet, looking up at One he felt the anger rush forward and he was suddenly looking down the muzzle of One's AR 15.

John let the little corner of his mind work, it blocked out the nightmares and the dreams. It told him he was alone, the voice speaking in his ear was a looped recording. He had been given some serious drugs but he had refused to answer the questions. '_Protect those they do not know about. Do not think their name.' _

'_It's time to move John, time to get loose. Time to pull your hand, your right hand John through the strap, loosen your shoulder muscles, that's right, loosen your shoulder and let it dislocate, feel the bone, now twist slightly'._ He clamped down with his jaw; the cords on his neck and jaw stood out like ropes. Even with the drugs the excruciating pain jolted through the haze. His head was still not tied down, that would allow him to roll slightly to the left. _'relax your right hand, pull, wiggle, pull John, don't mind the burning sensation the flesh will grow back… pull, that's it…now drive the shoulder back, ignore the warm feeling on your hand, grab the end of the board and jerk you arm down…pop it back…pull…'_

The pain subsided as the shoulder popped back in, he felt moisture creep from under his closed eye lids. He sucked in a breath and clamped his mouth back shut.

'_John you need to move, do it, lift the right hand…lift it…take the strap off the upper arm…do it…do it…now reach over and remove the straps from the other arm…Thats it...upper arm, elbow...now the wrist…Use you left hand to pull the needle out…do it .._

Reese opened his eyes, everything was blurry but he bought both arms in front of his face and with his left hand he pulled the needle out of his vein. Pain was etched hard on his face. He drew in air through his nose. He reached down and took the strap across his hips off and then with determination set on his face he did a sit up. Reaching down he pulled the strap off his legs.

His head was spinning; his vision swam in front of him. The medical equipment moved in and out on its own.

'_Move…now… get out' _The little corner that had taken control of his mind screamed at him. He half slipped…fell off the gurney. His upper body draped across the gurney was holding him up. His legs felt like dead rubber _'Come on Reese…Move…now… move it' _Using the gurney he half crawled, half pulled himself to the end of the it and then he stumbled, lurched for the door that had an exit sign over it. '_Hesitate is to die!_' His hands groped for the door, he practically fell into it. His hands fumbled for the knob, there had to be a knob, he reached twice for the knob and came up empty handed, on the third try he grabbed it. He got it open, lunged across the short distance to the next door marked exit and he wasn't sure but when his hand slammed into the door knob he thought he broke something.

One part of his mind was seeing all kinds of monsters, guns, faces, explosions, hands tearing at his face, his body. But the little corner was still in control, it was the part that was his survival instinct.


	6. Chapter 6

POI Please read and review, thank you. POI

Finch was angry, frustrated. The wireless in the area was extremely slow. He had called up a search for the Semi truck name Loomis Trucking of Oklahoma …Trailer number 3348, tags out of West Virginia and the search was creeping along. They had started back toward the City and Finch had them pull over at a small shopping area. There were several of the small gas, convenience stores spread along the toll-ways and interstates. This one had good wireless access, his signal boosted. He was going to have to remember next time to bring the uplink with him when he traveled in this car.

"Boss, are we going to be here a minute….?'

Damson looked over his shoulder at Finch.

"Yes, I think we are…" His hands were busy on the key board while he searched the screen for the results.

"Going to get a couple coffees would you like me to see if they got tea…?"

He saw Finch glance up at the store. "Yes, please, this chain usually carries hot water for tea…Lipton will be fine…" He heard Damson get out of the car and shut the door…

Pushing back in his seat slightly, he adjusted his glasses, and pondered the screen for a long moment. The truck had a tracking device, there did seem to be one for the trailer. He started the process for the tracker the signal strength dropped again and then came up.

POI

John Reese stumbled through what he thought was a mixture of oak and maple, but he wasn't stopping to make sure. The corner of his mind was growing stronger. He was grasping at any little thing that seemed normal; the other side of his mind was really sending him some weird visions, he tried to ignore them. He knew he was out in the woods; he thought he was moving away from where the trailer had been parked. A trailer, they had a trailer set-up. Leaning against a maple trunk he caught his breath. His left arm was wrapped around the rough trunk, his shirt was open and as he leaned into the tree he could feel the bark against his skin. His right hand hung at his side, the blood had coagulated and he wasn't bleeding anymore. There were several strips of skin hanging down, he looked down at his elbow and thought he saw it was excessively swollen.

The nightmares and dreams were still going on in the rest of his mind. He suddenly had a thought; this must be what a blackout was like for a functioning alcoholic. Their unconsciousness takes over and even though they are drunk out of their mind, they are functional…He glanced down at his feet, seeing the biggest Camel spider he had ever seen crawling toward him in deep sand, it's monster pincers mashing open and closed as it came toward him. The small control box in his mind told him it was an illusion, and to ignore it. He wasn't in the Afghanistan desert, it wasn't sand at his feet but pine and oak leaves. Looking up he saw through the stands of trees and under brush in the distance what he thought were head lights…

He staggered forward.

Reese moved to the edge of a road way. The grass was almost knee deep in places. He staggered on toward the lights. There was some kind of a store, or something there across the roadway with a blinking sign. He could see a car pulling in. He needed to get there. He staggered forward trying to focus on one spot, one light…there were a billion in his vision and they were all swirling around.

And then there was blackness. It took him a long moment to realize that he had fallen into a ditch. He tried to get to his hands and knees but failed; he lay breathing hard for several minutes and then tried again. Getting his feet under him he moved up to the road. It had to be late, very few cars were on the roadway and he crossed it with out incident. He moved to the side of the gas station. There were six pumps; the store inside according to the signage was the last station for fifty miles, it carried ice cold beer, snacks and lottery tickets.

Reese saw a car coming, saw the turn signal come on and start to slow to turn in. He flattened against the side of the building as they driver pulled in and pulled into a parking slot that was closer to his side of the store than the entrance of the store. He watched as a young woman with long blond hair checked a clip board. Put the car in park and leaving the car running popped the trunk and got out and went to a Newspaper vending machine and started taking the money out of it.

Reese moved like a ghost, he had his right arm tucked against this body, four quick strides and he was at the car. He opened the back door and slid into the back, down in the foot wells of the back seat. As he dropped down out of sight he saw the blond woman start to straighten up and head back toward the car with an armload of old papers. She walked past the car door and to the trunk. It was then that he noticed two of the bluest eyes blinking at him.

She was probably two or two and a half and she was strapped into a child seat in the back seat. She giggled and threw her stuffed animal at him.

"Ashley…mommies all most done…" The blond haired woman moved to the side of the window of the back seat door and glanced in, an arm load of newspapers pressed against her body. Her baby turned her head toward her and giggled. ""You are such a good little girl Ashley…we got two more stops then were done for the night…" Her mother headed for the vending machine.

Reese had caught the stuffed toy in his left hand and now he reached and placed it back in Ashley's grabbing hand. He didn't talk, he wasn't sure that this was part of a hallucination he'd been having, if it was, it was a new one. He watched the child for a moment, then heard her mother get into the front seat and off they were, driving to their next destination.

POI

"WHAT!" Mark Snow came up off the chair he had been sitting in, almost tipping the table he had been sitting at field cleaning his gun. He strode across the small room and got up in Dillon's face. "You said it was impossible for him to get away…what the hell happened…?

"He must have had help…" Dillon could not believe that his subject had gotten away on his own… "There was no way-."

Mark Snow shoved past him and ran out of the small house /shack and across the dark yard and ran the short distance to the trailer. He went up the portable metal steps and into the trailer. He went through the observation room and into the control room. His anger was so great it took him a couple minutes to focus on what he was seeing. He saw the bloody right hand cuff and knew exactly what John had done and how he had gotten away. He turned and stalked out of the trailer, standing at the top of the steps he looked out into the night. He knew John was deadly dangerous now, if cornered he would kill to get away. Mark came down off the stairs two at a time and cross back to where Dillon was standing waiting for him on the small porch at the front of the shack.

"How long has he been gone?" Snow got back up in Dillon's face.

"Less than 30 minutes, Sir." Dillon lowered his eyes.

"Take a flashlight out and see if you can find which way he went." Mark stepped around Dillon and headed inside. Reaching in his pocket for his cell phone, dogs, they were going to need dogs….

POI

John and Ashley made a game of her throwing the stuffed toy at John and him giving it back to her. He smiled at her giggle. He found he liked playing with the child…Layla…No this was not Layla…who was Layla? His face turned down into a frown as he tried to remember…Cold…he remembered being cold…that baby Layla had been cold…

"Well aren't you having a good time back there…"

John stiffened, jolted back into the moment; he had forgotten where he was. Back seat…he was in the back seat of a car. He felt Ashley's mother move in the front seat, pressing back a little on the seat. John turned his attention back to the smiling cherub in the back seat, and with his left hand tickled her foot.

She giggled again.

John felt the car start to slow.

"Next to the last stop baby…" Ashley's mommy pulled into the parking lot, same routine. She popped the trunk, checked the clip board and got out of the car, leaving it running.

John moved up in the back seat, looking for Ashley's mother, seeing her crouching at the vending machine, the headlights glowing at her back. He glance down, saw her purse on the seat in front of him and with his left hand he reached in and searched her purse, finding what he wanted he wrapped his hand around it and exited the back seat, walking away swiftly into the darkness of a corner. He heard Ashley start to wail as he moved into the deepest hiding spot he could.

He saw the blond woman look back at the car but she was half blinded by the lights. She quickly moved to her wailing baby. "Ashley…baby…Honey…what's wrong?"

John moved back, using his left elbow to guide himself along the side of the building. His right hand was useless, and his left hand had his life line in it. He got to the end of the building and saw there were a few lights at the back of the store, no windows and about a hundred yards to making it back into the dense brush. John tried to focus in on a spot and headed toward it. He pushed the vision of a man coming out of the back of the wall at him, it was not real…it was not real…He was starting to have large black holes in his vision. He stumbled into the darkness and fell down an incline and came to rest in a small ditch, jarring his head and right shoulder. He lay there stunned for several long minutes, the little corner of his mind seemed to have shut down and he was experiencing all kinds of weird things rolling through his drugged mind. _'No…I am in control…I can beat this…I can beat this…' _The tiny corner in his mind opened, a small little glimmer of hope.

John brought his left hand up to his face and flipped open the cell phone that he had stolen. Using his thumb he dialed the number, he pressed send and listened while it rang. He heard an anxious voice answer.

"This is Harold Sparrow…"

Reese blinked into the night; he unlocked his jaw, pressing the phone close to his lips…

His throat worked, his mouth moved but nothing came out.

"Hello is someone there?" The stress in Harold's voice went

It came as a whisper, barley audible… "Harold…"

"John...is that you…John hang on...Don't hang up, I will track the phone you are using…John-."

John's eyes closed, his breath came in a sigh and his left hand relax slightly, but it still gripped the cell phone. He rolled to his side and curled up into a fetal position.

POI


	7. Chapter 7

"Boss…Over here…" Damson stopped, waved his flashlight and turned toward Finch. His instructions had been to look for Mr. Reese, and he thought he had found him. He saw his partner who had taken the other side of the parking lot start toward them, flash light bobbing, walking along the edge of the grassy area. Damson signaled to his partner where he saw the body; he looked at the worried expression on his boss's face. There was about an hour to full daylight and the highway was starting to get busy. He was afraid they would attract attention.

Finch walked to the edge of the parking lot and stepped over into the grass, moving closer to where Damson stood. The ground was very rocky and uneven and he had to walk carefully. "I don't see…" both flash lights showed him. "Oh my Lord-."

Finch immediately started down toward Reese. He had his hands out of his pockets for balance and taking cautious steps down the steep slope into the drainage ditch, his bad leg and back making it very awkward for him to navigate.

"Boss…" Damson was right with him, using the flashlight to guide Finch's way. "Let us get him."

Finch paused, looking back over his shoulder at Damson. "No…In his present state of mind I am not sure what he might do."

"That's what I mean Boss…We know how dangerous he can be." Damson had experienced that first hand.

Finch looked at the lump in the drainage ditch, turning awkwardly back toward Damson. "He won't hurt me." A look of determination crossed Finch's face and slowly went down the incline, stepping into the cement bottom he reached back and took the flash light from Damson. He reached up and wiped sweat from his brow.

He stepped closer. John was on his right side in the ditch; there was about a half inch of water running. The side of his head was in the water, his right arm was tucked against his body and his left arm was cradling it. The right hand was slightly visible and covered in dried blood. His left hand was closed around something. He was curled up, legs drawn up. His whole body was shaking, he looked pale and cold.

Finch edged his way closer by a couple steps. "John …?" He took another step, fixing the flash light on John's face. "Mr. Reese?" He used a little firmer tone. "Mr. Reese, can you hear me?"

John opened his eyes. Silently he reacted, drawing both hands up to protect his head. He tried to dodge the light in his face.

"It's me John, its Finch….We found you, your going to be all right." He lowered the light out of Johns face, he took a step closer.

John tried to scoot back, pushing with his feet, away from Finch, panic on his face. His movements were uncoordinated, jerky.

Finch turned the flashlight so the light shinned on his face. "John, look at me…Its Finch."

Reese was still scrambling back, using his feet. As Finch flipped the light on himself John scrambled even harder. He rolled and put his left hand down, fist closed. He got his closed fist under him and tried to push himself up, the slime from the shallow stream made it real slick and all he did was get half way up and have his closed hand go out from under him, he slammed back to the watery cement, slamming his head down against the wet concrete.

A strangled groan escaped between clenched jaws. He struggled, trying to get up but between the shaking from the cold and his weaken state from the drugs his body was making jerking motions. He couldn't seem to coordinate his arms and legs. He was breathing hard, almost gaping for breath, fear crossed his face..

Finch limped closer, drawing a deep breath he spoke softly, talking as if he was speaking to Reese on the phone. "Mr. Reese?" He watched as Reese started to calmed down. "I need you to listen to me." He hobbled forward another couple steps, almost slipping in the slimy water. He saw John remain still, he saw him cock his head as if listening. "We are going to help you up and get you to the car." Finch signaled to his two men for them to come down closer. "Mr. Reese." He raised his hand to the men, stopping them just behind him. "I know they gave you drugs, I know what has happened…we are going to get you to safety." He waved his hand and Damson and his partner moved forward. "Please gentlemen be very careful, no quick moves." He watched John's expression, the last time he had seen that look on his face was when he had confronted him and John had leaped at him, pinned him against the wall and had choked him. He had convinced Reese that he could offer him hope and that he would never lie to him. "Mr. Reese, remember, I will never lie to you." He moved another step closer. "They are going to help you to your feet." He saw Reese try and focus in on the two as they bent down closer to him.

Reese saw the distorted faces come closer to him and instinctually he moved his hands up in a defensive move, but Finch's voice in his mind told him it was ok, everything was going to be fine and he felt hands reach under his arms and gently bring him upright. In the early morning light he thought he saw Finch standing in front of him. He tried hard to focus on Finch. Reese felt like there were little explosions going off in his head, he knew he was about to become unconscious. Looking down at his left hand he reached out with a shaking arm to the Finch standing in front of him and he saw the Finch reach a hand out to him. John's face became a study in concentration; it took him a long moment to open his hand and dropped the cell phone he had been clinging to, into Finch's hand.

Finch looked at the muddy cell phone and nodded to Reese. "Thank you Mr. Reese." He thought he saw a hint of a smile touch the corner of Johns lip. He knew that one act was a tremendous act of trust. He saw Reese's eyes roll back.

Both Damson and his partner staggered, re-gripping Reese under the arms and lifting him as he became dead weight. They both started up the slope. Damson looked back at their boss. "Sir, let us get him in the car and will come back and help you." He was a little breathless as they struggled up the rough slope.

Finch moved carefully out of the water and up onto the edge of the cement, then slowly started to follow, he traversed the slope going sideways and was about half way up when Damson came back down and gave him a hand. "Thank you Mr. Damson." He took the hand offered him and came up to the top of the parking lot.

He got to the car and saw Reese curled up in the back seat. He looked over his shoulder at Damson, seeing his partner already getting into the drivers side of the car. "Is there a blanket in the trunk?"

Damson nodded. "It's that real expensive one."

"Would you get it please?" Finch crawled into the back seat, he got set next to Reese. Reese was curled back up in a tight ball, protecting his right hand again. He was shivering and shaking. Finch heard the car start and felt hot air as the heater was turned on full blast. "Mr. Reese we're going to get you to the main house, I know you don't remember a lot about it, but we will be safe there." He wasn't sure that Reese could understand him, but he thought it wouldn't hurt to keep talking. Damson reached in and handed him the blanket and he took it and started to lean toward John, he saw him tense. "I am going to put a blanket over you to help you get warm" He gently laid the blanket over Reese's trembling body. "We are going to get you to safety." He pulled the soft blanket up around Reese's shoulders. "You are in the car; we are getting ready to move out."

Damson shut the door and stepped to the passenger side front door. He looked up as he started to slide into the seat. "Mr. Finch." He pointed toward two black SUV's that were pulling off the Parkway and into the parking lot on the far side of the station.

Finch looked up, seeing where Damson was pointing; a pinched look came to his face.

"Hang on boss, got this covered." Finch's driver grinned, keeping the SUV's almost out of sight by putting the limo into reverse and backing around the back of the lot, he was able to stay just out of their sight as they rounded the front of the building. He swung around and pointed the Limo toward the opposite side of the building. He timed it so he went around the front, as they came around the back. He saw that both of them had gone around back and he sped up and was out on the road before they made their circle back around to the front.

Finch let a sigh out. ""How did you know they would go that way?"

"Government...they always go clockwise…" He grinned into the rearview mirror. Looking over at Damson he chuckled. He checked the side mirror; the SUV's were stopping in front of the station. "They're not following us…" He put the car up to speed limit."

Damson turned and looked at their new passenger. "Is he warming up?"

Finch looked at Reese's face, what he could see of it. Reese had gathered the blanket around him. Finch could still see him shivering, his muscles were still twitching. There was a scrape on the side of his forehead where he had smacked into the cement; his hair was all disarrayed, water droplets clung here and there. His face was not as cold and pinched looking. "Yes Mr. Damson, he looks like he is warming up."

"Boss, let me know if it gets to hot for you."

Voices, John heard voices. He cracked his eye lids and tried to lay still. There was a blanket over him; he had a corner of it bunched in his left hand. The cell phone, the cell phone was gone. His life line, a phone, he knew he had had one. He had taken it from the woman with the baby, what if she broke down…He felt bad for stealing it…He realized he was in a car, not the car with the baby, it took him this long to remember that, where was he? He smelled something wet and realized he was cold, he had a blanket…Papers, he needed newspapers, they would help keep him warm. He'd have to scrounge for papers.

Movement, he felt someone shift next to him. Reese uncoiled like a snake. His left hand let the blanket go, he stretched out, using his feet against what he thought was a car door and his left hand shot out, he used his right elbow to lift himself, his right hand pulsed with pain at the strain and his left hand automatically closed over soft flesh of some ones throat.

He was staring into a set of surprised eyes, eyes covered with thick rimmed glasses. Reese heard two startled sounds one in front of him and one off his shoulder. He glanced over his shoulder and saw some gray haired guy trying to whip around in the front seat. He heard the brakes to a car screeching; bracing himself with his legs, his attention turned back to the man he had by the throat. Reese saw the man's hand come up, but he used it in a gesture instead of defending himself, telling the guy in the front seat to stay. Reese looked again at the man he had by the throat.

Finch forced himself to relaxed, looking at Reese. He saw a form of recognition in the green eyes staring back at him. "Mr. Reese?" It came out in a croak; he was experiencing pain from the pressure Reese was exerting "That hurts"

Reese blinked a couple times. A dozen different emotions crossing his face as his thought process slowly worked things out. He knew this man…a bird…Owl…no…Finch…Harold Finch…

Reese pulled his hand away and kind of sat back on his haunches in the car, he looked down at his right hand, seeing the ripped and torn flesh. His mind was scrambling to catch up. He looked at Finch "Sorry…" He was having a hard time making his mind focus. Drugs, he'd been given drugs. He looked back at the man in front of him, no it wasn't him…He looked back down at his right hand, he had escaped.

"Mr. Reese, you are safe…"

Reese looked back at the man named Finch. Slowly he reached out with his left hand. Using his index finger he poked him in the shoulder. Looking at him as if he might disappear, or he wasn't real. A thought jumped into his mind. A worried look crossed his face, he wet his lips. "I didn't talk." His voice was just a whisper

"I knew you wouldn't Mr. Reese. Why don't you sit back and relax."

"It was Snow…I know he was there…He asked about…" Reese's eyes got a worried look to them, he looked around. His jaws locked.

"Mr. Reese, you don't have to say anything, sit back… just rest." Finch reached for a water bottle lying on the seat next to him. He remembered when he had been given the Ecstasy that John had insisted that he drink a lot of water. "John I have some water…you need to drink it, get rehydrated." He reached out and extended the bottle to Reese.

John Reese took a long look at it and moved back away from both the water and Finch. The hand and the bottle were suddenly ten times bigger then normal.

Finch looked at him for a long minute then looked at the bottle. He frowned for a long moment and then realized what he needed to do. "John…?" He took the bottle and opened it and drank out of it, then offered it to John. "Its safe, drink some water…"

The explosions were going off in his head again. He looked at the man sitting next to him; his mind was telling him to trust him, but that old secret spot in his brain was telling him trust no one, you are alone, you are a monster…you're a killer…you've killed innocent people… you have no friends, no family…Family…Jessica…no she is.. .His mind shut down the thought, it was too painful.

John moved back in the seat and pulled his right hand up against his chest. It was throbbing. He felt pain everywhere. There were still colored lights going off behind his eyes. He felt the shiver start in the middle of his chest and spread out, he felt sweat pop out on his face. The roof of the limo suddenly seemed to crash down on top of him, he drew down in the seat, protecting his throbbing hand and his head as the roof seem to disintegrate on top of him. He curled up again in a ball as the shivering and pain flushed across his body.

Finch tried to turn sideways and finally had to move up in the seat and move his whole body sideways. Worry crossed his features. He saw the color drain from John's face, watched as his entire body quivered. Finch retrieved the blanket that had fallen to the floor and again spread it over Reese's shivering frame. "Damson…Call Dr Remington…Have him meet us at the estate."

"Yes sir…"

Finch saw John's eyes close, saw sweat pop out on his face, saw tears slid from under his eye lids. "John…it's going to be alright."

John blinked his eyes open, they were bright geen and very blood shot. Through clenched teeth. "I didn't tell…" His voice was less then a whisper. His body twitched uncontrollably, blood flowed from his nose, he drew himself into a tighter ball. A strangled sound of pain escaped from deep in his throat, and then he lay still.

Finch reached out and felt for a pulse. For a moment panic grabbed his mind and then he felt a faint pulse. He leaned down close to Reese's ear; his voice was a low whisper. "Don't die on me Mr. Reese…I can't take another friends death…"


	8. Chapter 8

He was alone. He lay on a soft bed. He was clean. His right hand was bandaged. Pain, there was still pain, but that meant that he was alive. There were two pillows under his head and he was slightly propped up. He lifted his head and looked down at his body. He wore no shirt, there were no restraints. He could see several round bruises on his torso. The covers were pulled up to his waist. He looked to his left slightly and saw an IV bag hanging at the side of the bed. He looked down at his left hand and arm but saw there was nothing connected. Looking at his right arm he saw that his elbow was wrapped in a clean white dressing. His right hand was also wrapped in the same material, his whole hand was covered.

He laid his head back against the pillows and realized that he wasn't in a hospital. There were French doors over to the left and they were open, letting in the sun, sounds and smells. He could smell flowers, stocks he thought. The warmth of the sun gently blew in on the slight breeze that fluttered the pale blue window dressings. There were birds chirping.

He wanted to get up, but the thought slowly slipped from his mind as his eyes slowly closed and he went back to sleep.

He slept and dreamed. Dozen of dreams came and went. Some were good, some not so good. He felt hot and cold, sometimes at the same time. He wanted to wake up; he wanted to come back to reality…

Reality, what was real. He had the butt of an AK 47 snug against his flack vest…He was moving forward and firing, he felt two hits to the vest and he didn't even hesitate, he kept firing. Now, he was sitting in a bar, there was a beautiful woman sitting next to him. She turned to him and reached out and touched the side of his face, she was saying something but he couldn't understand her... Then he was standing in a corner, he was dressed in a tux and he could feel the weight of his gun at his back. There was talking in his right ear, a phone bud and they were saying to take the shot now. He felt himself reach for the gun at his back, pull it and bring it up into the ready position and he was firing…His mind then went to a fight. He was blocking and counter blocking head and body shots. He let a right hand punch slide through his defense and as the fist just missed his head he threw the killing punch, striking with his left hand to his opponent's nose and then with his right hand he went to the others exposed throat. He watched the surprise in the dark colored eyes and saw the man die. Then he was stretched out on a bed and he was leaning forward to kiss a beautiful woman…to kiss Jessica…her hand was touching the side of his face in a loving caress, he was so happy, he felt so much peace when she was with him…it was Jessica and she was smiling and kissing him back…Jessica…she was there with him…she was…no she was dead…

He woke with a jerk, bringing both hands up to protect his head. He blinked tears out of his eyes. There was a fine sheen of sweat covering his body, he had a shirt on and it was plastered to his chest.

"Mr. Reese?"

John kept his hands up in a defensive mode, unsure of whom, what or where he was. He looked over at where the voice had come from. He blinked his vision clear and lowered his hands to his side, feeling his right hand pulse in pain. He felt exhausted. He swallowed and licked his lips. His eyes stayed on Finch, who was sitting in a high back chair just to the side of the bed…at least he though this was Finch and he wasn't dreaming.

"How are you feeling?" Finch was sitting in a chair just to the side of the bed. He stiffly got to his feet, set the book he had been reading down in the chair and took the three steps to the edge of the bed. "You need to drink some fluids…I have water here, Orange Juice and some tea I just made."

John glanced around the room. "Where am I?" His voice was dry and raspy.

Finch straightened his glasses. "You are at one of my Estates, outside of New York…You were here once before, but I don't think you remember much about this place." He reached for a glass of water. "The Doctor wants you to drink as much fluids as you can, you were very dehydrated when we got you here. And you have been running a fever." He stepped closer to the bed and handed Reese the glass.

Reese took the glass, sipped the water and handed the glass back. "How long have I been here?"

"Day and a half …" He put the water glass down on the table. He saw concern cross John's face.

"You found me…?" His memory was a little fuzzy, which he didn't like.

"You called me on a cell phone; it had a GPS tracker on it…"

John looked down at his left hand, remembering, the baby, riding in the car, walking away from the woman, clutching the phone in his hand.

Finch saw an almost child like look come to John's face.

"I kind of borrowed it from a woman delivering newspapers" He gestured with his head, his green eyes softening at the edges. It suddenly made him look much younger. His voice was soft "We need to get it back to her." He half smiled. "I kind of borrowed a ride from her too, but she didn't know that either."

Finch smiled. "I actually tracked her down, she is a single mother, she has three jobs…I told her I found her phone at a convenience gas station …She was very happy to get it back" He adjust his glasses again. "Very nice woman and a beautiful little girl-"

"Ashley…" He remembered her name.

"Yes, Ashley" Finch picked up the glass of water again and handed it back to Reese. "You need more fluids"

John took the glass and had another swallow. He looked over at the French doors then back at Finch. "What about our current number…what's happened there..? John went to hand the glass back to Finch

Finch gestured for him to drink more. "I contacted Detective Fusco, told him about the shipments…Apparently our David Taylor was smuggling in Ivory and Jade. They busted him just as his partners were getting ready to kill him, seems he's been siphoning off a very large slice of the proceeds."

John looked down at his right hand and elbow; they both seemed very sore and swollen. He looked up at Finch, the question slowly forming in his mind.

"We are waiting for the your blood toxicology to come back, Dr. Remington is afraid to give you any medication because of all the symptoms you went through yesterday, we were very worried about you. He was afraid to put anything else in your system without knowing how it might react."

It took a moment for the words to sink in; they were running a blood toxicology…that meant a lab…that meant reports…a worried look came over his face. He struggled to move up "Finch…They'll track the report…your doctors-."

Finch held up his hand. "It's a private research lab doing the testing, **no** government contacts so they have no outside reporting. They specialize in spinal and neck injury research. But they have an excellent Toxicology lab."

He lay back against the pillows, feeling the dampness. That slight bit of movement showed him how sick he was. His right hand and elbow pulsed, he felt exhausted. The glass in his left hand felt like it weighed fifty pounds. He gestured with his head toward the water glass, watching as Finch took it. He started feeling very uncomfortable, very hot.

Finch put the water glass back on the table and saw the change in Reese's color. His temperature looked like it was going up again. "Let me call the Doctor in…" Finch started to turn and head toward the door.

John felt the exhaustion take over, he was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. "Finch?" He fought off the dizziness he was experiencing, there was ringing in his ears. He forced himself to open his eyes and he fixed them on Finch as he moved back toward him.

"Yes Mr. Reese…?"

Finch's worried face came into focus. "Harold, thank you for finding me…" His soft voice trailed off, his eyes closed; he could not hold them open any longer.

Finch stood there a moment longer, worry and fear gripped at his soul. "You're very welcome John…"

POI

"He's dead…"

Mark Snow looked across the table at Dillon Flint and felt his anger come up another notch. He was in a dangerous spot; he was tired, frustrated and angry. "What do you mean 'he's dead'?" Snow pushed off the desk, his chair rolling back and came to his feet. He gave an angry look at his partner, Tyrell Evens, who was silently standing in the corner of Snow's office.

Dillon looked from the dark stone face of Tyrell back to Snow's flushed face. "He is infected with a virus; it was part of the drug cocktails I gave him." He looked at his wrist watch. "As long as I was administrating the proper cocktails, the virus was being kept dormant… By now he should be burning up with a fever. Another fourteen hours and he will be dead…" Dillon's voice was matter-of-fact; he looked at Snow with a smirk on his lips.

Snow moved in front of Dillon who was sitting in a chair, he leaned back against his desk; he crossed his arms over his chest. "Is this virus reversible?"

"With the right mix…he's got maybe twelve hours…after that he will be in a coma and there will be no way to reverse it…"

Snow drew in a deep breath and held it for a long moment; out of the corner of his eye he saw his partner shift. Snow let the breath he been holding out and looked over at Tyrell, he nodded toward the door.

Tyrell quickly left the room, closing the door firmly behind him.

Snow heard the click of the door and focused his attention on the smirking blond idiot seated in front of him. His hands had already balled into fists and he was hugging his chest tightly, knowing he really wanted to loose control and kill the man sitting in front of him. "I don't want him dead…I need the information he has…the information you were to get…" He leaned forward just slightly. If we don't find him and fix this…Consider your career and your life over…I will personally see to it!"

Dillon started up out of the chair at Snow. "You can't thre-."

Mark drew his under arm hide out gun and placed the barrel under Dillon's jaw, the click of the hammer being drawn back was very audible in the silence of the room

They stood eye to eye.

Mark Snow gave just the slightest pressure to the handle of the gun, seeing the effect in the others eyes. "If John dies…so do you…"

POI

"I think we should move him to a hospital." Dr. Remington ran the thermal temperature scanner over Reese's forehead again. Looking at the digital read out 104.3 Deg F. he looked across the bed at Finch.

"We can't risk it." Finch looked down at John's flushed face. Sweat was pouring off him, he was mumbling about things, his delirious mind was tormenting him. "What do you need here to make it safe for us to keep him here?"

Dr Remington looked at Finch, then down at the floor and then back at Finch. "The report came back, I told you about the 4 psychotropic drugs, the 12 barbiturates and the four other mood altering chemicals that were found, there is something else causing a Metabolic Unbalance and it is attacking his system, his whole body is under siege, I have to isolate that chemical and find out what will counter it." He looked down at John, he looked back at Finch. "If, it is possible." He let that sink in. "How he has survived this long in unbelievable…The drugs that were in his system would have killed a normal man, but this metabolic abnormality is eating him up. I need a full research lab and a competent team."

Finch turned and walked away from the bed and the man who was in it, Finch's mind was racing. He walked to the window and looked out. He turned around suddenly and smiled. "I think I may have a solution to the hospital and the lab."


	9. Chapter 9

Mark Snow walked slowly down the darkened hallway. It was getting onto late afternoon; he'd been up about eighteen hours now running leads down and then had the confrontation with Dillon about an hour ago. If they hadn't been in his office, if they had been out in the field somewhere, he would have shot him. But, he needed his expertise to fix John… He'd do it later.

He stopped at the elevator and pressed the down button. John had been a pain in his side for a long time. They had worked together on occasion, Snow had been John and Cara's connection for the Bureau, they had both been excellent agents, doing what they were told. But John had done the one unthinkable thing. John had turned on the company and for Snow it was inexcusable, he considered him a trader, and then everyone thought he was dead…why didn't he stay dead?

The elevator opened and he stepped in.

He pressed G for the garage and saw the doors close and felt the elevator start down. His mind was working over time, he needed a solution. He smiled at his reflection in the stainless steel elevator. He could take a full page ad out in the newspaper, 'John, call for the cure.' He knew he was getting punchy…and ad…newspaper…

His hand shot out and he hit the stop button…

Not the newspaper…better yet, Detective Carter….He reached for his cell phone as he hit the start button on the elevator. Pressing the speed dial…three rings and his partner picked up. "Find Dillon; get the cocktail mix formula that will counter act the virus and meet me down in the garage at the car…" He listened for a moment. "Either one, either the stuff it 'self or the formula…I don't care…just get it now…" He snapped the phone closed as the elevator door opened, and headed to the dark SUV parked in his slot, he'd catch a nap while he waited. This just might work…

POI

It was a small clean white room. There was a hospital bed, various beeping machines, and several differed IV hangers around it.

Finch stood on one side of the bed and Dr. Remington stood on the other. Reese lay in the bed. Another blood sample was being drawn and the lab staff hurried off to run it.

Remington looked over at Finch. He knew Finch was wealthy. He had been managing his pain for about a year and a half from the injuries he had previously incurred. "How did you get approval for this so fast?" With-in an hour of Finch making the phone call, an ambulance had arrived, they had been taken to the Research lab, a room with all the medical equipment had been set up and a lab staff of ten had been standing at the door waiting for them as they came in. With-in twenty minutes of them arriving, another toxicology test was being run, saline IV's were established and they had started to treat the fever, trying to get his temperature down.

Finch shifted his worried graze from John to the doctor. He thought a moment. "I know the chairman of the board for the Foundation that started this lab." He adjusted his glasses and looked back at John; discomfort touched his features as he moved.

Dr Remington gave him a long look. "I think you need to either go sit down or lay down for awhile. Have you taken your medications?"

"I'm fine Dr-."

"That's not what I asked." He turned toward Finch. "I don't need two patients, and you know you need to maintain your pain medication level, so you don't stress your heart."

Finch looked over at the Dr. then glanced down at the floor and then back at Dr. Remington. "Yes, perhaps you are right, I will go down to their break room and have some tea and rest for a few minutes." He turned and walked out of the room and down the hall. He went to the elevator and punched the up button, the door quietly opened, there was no one in it and he stepped in and reached into his pocket. Using the special key he inserted it into the lock at the side of the panel and pressed the O button that lit up when the key was turned. The elevator went to the top floor and the door slid open showing an office with a large desk, a dozen computer screens, a small kitchen area and a bathroom.

Finch removed the key, the light went out and he stepped off the elevator, the door closed behind him. Moving to the desk he sat down in the chair and turned on the computer and the screens. He'd sleep later; he needed to search. His fingers flew over the keyboard as he linked into his main computer back at the Library that linked to the main frame and started his searches. When the searches were running he brought up on another screen the security camera that was in John's room, he could see every detail that was going on, he split the screen and brought up the toxicology lab, keeping an eye there too.

He hesitated a moment and then got up and went to the small kitchen There was a hot plate, tea pot, cups, a canister of his special tea, water glasses and a refrigerator. He drew water from the sink and filled the pot and set it on the hot plate, turning it on. Then he took a glass and filled it with water and taking a pill bottle out of his pocket he shook out three different colored pills and took them.

Setting the glass back, he waited for the water to boil and then he made tea and went back to the computer screens. He set the cup down and sat down in the chair, adjusting his glasses he looked at the screen that was in John's room. Dr Remington was looking at a read out and writing something down, John was lying quietly in the bed, he hoped sleeping. He glanced at the lab screen and they were busy doing something, three people were bent over a machine that was doing something.

A bleep sounded.

Finch looked at the screen to his left and saw a blinking cursor. Something had come back on his search. He pressed a key and the search box popped up.

subject+search%dillon%flint=

Dillon Flint's face popped up on several pages, there was an article in S&S about him leaving the Seals and retiring. On another page, still a government issue there was a small article about Dillon going to work for the CIA, as a Specialized Skills Officers. That was one of John's titles. Finch also had a School history background on Flint: His schooling records stated he had been in the top 1% and saw that he had a Masters from University of California; Irvine. He had overlapping studies not only in traditional research but with sub-disciplines of chemistry: organic, inorganic, biological, physical, and analytical and research.

"Impressive…"

Finch glanced at the monitor to his right and forgot everything else. It was the monitor that showed Reese's room and there were several people gathered around the bed, each trying to hold a convulsing John down.

Finch leaped to his feet and moved as fast as he could to the elevator, getting the key into the control panel he saw his hand was shaking. He pressed the button when it lit up and cursed that it had traveled down. It took a minute for the door to slide open and Finch jerked the key from the slot and lunged into the elevator and stabbed the 4th floor button. To him it seemed like hours until the elevator came to a stop and the door opened. He hurried out and down the hallway to John's room. As he entered he heard Dr Remington.

"Induce the coma now…!"

Finch saw a woman standing near one of the saline bags; stab a syringe into the tubing. The rest of the medical people were bent over John, holding his twitching straining body on the bed.

Finch realized that the monitor that beeped Reese's heart beat was so fast that he couldn't detect a separation.

"He's going to code…"Some one shouted it from the other side of the bed.

Just then the heart monitor racing beep slowed. John's straining, convulsing body began to relax. The heart beat slowed then went back to a steady beep. There was blood coming from his nose and mouth. He looked pale.

Dr Remington shouted orders. "Get the bed down, get him on the ventilator…Darla, draw another sample and Trey get another bag of electrolytes." He moved around the equipment and stepped to the head of the bed as it was lowered and someone handed him the endotracheal tube. "I need suction…" He pulled the pillow out from under John's head and dropped it on the floor then pulled John's head back and opened his mouth, a young man used a suction tube to clear Reese's mouth. Remington inserted the mechanical part, when it was in place he pulled the mechanical portion out and left the tube. He was handed the hose for the ventilator and attached it to the tube, John's chest rose and fell as the machine breathed for him.

Everyone took a breath.

Finch stood just inside the door. "What's happened?"

Dr. Remington looked up from John's prone body and looked at Finch. He walked back around the machines and over to where Finch was standing "What ever the chemical is for this Metabolic Unbalance caused his body to go into a seizure…I put him into an induced coma to take the strain off his heart and brain." He looked back at John. "It might give us a little more time-."

POI

"What do you mean you can't find him!" Mark Snow coming completely awake shouted it into the cell phone. He slammed his fist into the dash of the SUV.

Tyrell calmly said. "We searched the building…He's not here." What he wanted to say was _'Maybe if you hadn't threatened him_ …but he didn't. "Did you see him leave the garage?" He heard an angry curse that put a small smile to his lips.

Snow steamed for several minutes then he calmed down. "Put a trace on his cell phone…see if we can track him." He snapped the cell phone shut and sat for a long minute…

Maybe this could still work…at least he would have the body…. He moved out of the passenger side and into the driver's side, started up the SUV and backed out of the slot…Yeah that might just work….


	10. Chapter 10

He didn't know which one was the doctor. "Dr Remington?" The white coated man stood in the doorway to the room. He was holding a read out in his hand. His white jacket had the word 'Field' up on the left hand corner just above the breast pocket.

Both Remington and Finch turned toward him.

"I've seen this drug cocktail mix before…I know the formula...I think I might even know the man that created it..."

Finch spun all the way around and all most leaped at him, he was less than three feet away. He saw the man step back away from him, fear on his face.

Field watched as the smaller of the two men turned toward him and literally seemed too jumped at him. The small man was so intense, hair sticking up; his eyes were huge behind the thick rimmed glasses there was a murderous look on his face and in his eyes. Even though he moved as if he had some disability and he was half his size, the intensity on his face made Field back up.

Dr Remington was totally caught off guard. He had never seen Finch react like this. "Finch…take it easy…" He reached out and grabbed him by the left arm, stopping him from advancing on Field. Remington straightened and came to his full height as Finch was half turned toward him. Seeing the hostile look on Finch's face he now knew why Field had stepped back. "Let the man talk."

Finch had never experienced such rage, even over Nathan. He looked at Remington's hand on his arm and looked up into his face, Remington let go. Finch took a long second to compose himself. Reset his coat and adjusted his glasses. He turned and looked at the man standing there in the doorway, his eyes narrowed behind the glasses, his lips thinned down in continued anger. "Please explain yourself…?"

Field looked from the tall man to the angry shorter man and licked his lips…He glanced down at the readout in his hand and then back at the man called Finch. "I was in several lab classes and a Thesis workshop with a guy…back when I was going for my Masters in Chemistry-."

"What University?" Finch remain where he was, he was shaking he was so angry. John was dying.

"Uhh…Finally at University of California, that's where I met Dillon-."

Finch held up his hand, he turned back to Dr Remington…" I am sure you are needed here, let me find a quiet place and talk to Dr. Field." Knowing the man held a doctorate; those were the only people he had hired for this Research and Lab facility.

Remington looked at Finch, seeing that the man had calmed down. He nodded and stepped back to Reese's bedside.

Finch turned back to Dr. Field and gestured with his hand toward the hallway. "Is there a place we can talk in private?"

Field looked at Finch for a second and nodded. "There is a little conference room at the end of the hall." Field stepped all the way into the hallway and kind of gestured toward the direction. He started off down toward the conference room, trying to keep at least two arm lengths away from this man. He could tell that he was still angry about something…He knew they were trying to save the man lying in the room behind him, but that was all he knew.

They got to the room and he opened the door and walked in, flipping on the lights he walked to one of the plush chairs at a round conference table.

Finch followed him in and took a chair next to him. Sitting down he turned sideways, putting one elbow on the table. He drew a breath. "I am sorry for the outburst, but it has been a very long couple days and my associate is, as I think you know in very serious condition." He saw Field physically relax a little.

Field held the paper forward. "If this is what he has been given, your assessment is very accurate." Across the top of the page was a complex formula. He looked down at the paper and then back at Finch. "I didn't realize the formula had been injected into someone until I got a copy of the full blood work…I had just been working on identifying the formula mix in the sample I had been given."

"Do you know how to help my friend?" Finch wanted to find out how much Field knew about Dillon Flint, but that could wait, time was ticking.

Field looked at Finch. He raised the paper and put it on the table, between them. Pointing with an index finger he ran it down a bunch of symbols and numbers.

Finch understood some of them.

Field's finger stopped on PH: Arterial 5.9 "This is very low, and is causing a form of Metabolic Acidosis but this" he moved his finger down slightly PH: Urine 6.0. "This it the Metabolic anomaly, normally if the arterial is low, the urine is high…these are both dangerously low…"

Finch had leaned forward as Field had been explaining the numbers. He looked over at Field. "Do you know what to do to counter this?" He saw him sit back and think; Finch straightened in his chair and adjusted his glasses, the nervous habit. Finch felt a glimmer of hope as he saw Field's dark blue eyes look at him.

"I think I do…but we don't have much time until the damage that is being done irreversible."

"What do you need?" Finch came to his feet, he couldn't sit…they needed to move, to act….

Field stood as Finch did. "Actually I am pretty sure we have the acid/base mineral in the store room…" Field looked at the paper in his hand and then at Finch. "I am just not 100% sure-."

"Will it do more damage or harm?" Finch could here the clock ticking…

"No…"

"Then get it and do what you need to do to try and save his life." He gestured with a hand toward the door and watched as Field hurried out of the room.

Finch dropped back in the chair he had been sitting in and stared blankly across the room. He felt exhausted. Blinking he stood back up and made his way back to John's room…There was hope…

POI

Detective Carter moved under the yellow crime scene tape. She removed the latex gloves from her hand and turned back to one of the crime scene investigators and dropped them in the bag the CSI was holding. "You will send me the report?" She looked over at the woman and smiled. They were about the same height and build but all similarities stopped there. The CSI was red haired and freckled with creamy skin and large green eyes.

"Joss…you'll have it as soon as it rolls off my desk." She widened her smile as she wrote something on the bag. "We still on for yoga tomorrow?"

"You bet…Same time same place Jackie...see ya there." Joss turned and headed for her car. She stopped dead in her tracks.

Agent Mark Snow was leaning against it.

"Joss?" Jackie called from behind her. "Everything ok?" She had seen Joss' sudden stop, saw the man leaning against her car.

Joss turned back toward Jackie. "Yeah, everything is fine, just a piece of trash stuck to the car…" She smiled at Jackie and continued toward her car. She stopped within a couple feet.

Snow, still leaning against the car, arms crossed, smiled. "Detective Carter working a case I see?"

She gave him a long look. "What do you want Agent Snow?" She put emphasis on the word agent as if it were a bad taste in her mouth.

"You know John's missing?"

She gave him a cold stare, raised an eye brow. "Now how would I know that?"

"Oh, I think you know it…but that's not why I am here...I need you to get a message to whom ever John works for?"

Carter let her detest show. "And how would I know that…Or even be able to get in touch with him?" She shook her head slightly, she looked directly at him. "Name in the phone book?" She reached into her pocket and took out the keys for the car and started to the driver's side. ""I ain't got time for this, I've got a gang war going on, body counts are going up."

Snow pushed off the car and stepped in front of her, hands at his side. He looked at her angry eyes for a long minute, when he spoke his voice was a little caustic, but the look in his blue eyes was sincere. "Well if you don't want to add one rogue agent to the count, tell who ever is handing him now, that I have the cure…You have my number…give it to them…" He turned and walked away.

Carter watched him walk away. Fear gripping at the middle of her stomach, she hadn't heard from Finch since she had left the house she had explored…Her lips pulled down in a frown, this could be a trick to get her to use the cell phone that was theirs. She beeped the car alarm off and opened the door and got in…She hesitated a minute before putting the key in the ignition, she would drive a little and see if she had a tail…She would wait before making contact…

POI

Finch sat in a chair in the corner of the room; he had refused to leave, even when Dr. Remington had threatened him. It had been three hours and things had gone from bad to worse.

Field had injected the mineral into the IV and they waited and then ran a blood test, there was no change, Field read the latest reports and had adjusted the dose, he said he was adding a second base mineral, test were run that had come back with no change in the samples taken.

Finch looked wearily at the slow beeping monitors, listening to the ventilator breath for John. He had watched as they had come in, administered another combination of stuff and taken more samples, they were now on the fifth… no sixth combination.

Finch felt helpless. He came to his feet and walked over to the foot of the bed and looked down at John. The time before when John had gotten shot by agent Snow and his partner, Finch had gathered up a bag of money, and John and had dumped the bag on the table in a morgue. He told the shocked morgue attendant, who was actually a skilled surgeon that he knew who he was, that there was enough money for him to get his doctors license in the United States, if. If, he patched up the man lying bleeding on the gurney and kept his mouth shut about fixing him up. He had already known about this man, known he was an excellent surgeon and had known he needed money…But this…this... he was… there was no way he could-

"Mr. Finch." Dr Field walked into the room. There was a huge smile on his face. He had a printout in his hand and he waved it at Finch. "I think…Remind you…we are still not quite there yet, but I think I have found the right combination..." He rushed over to Finch before Finch's legs buckled. "Easy, let me get you the chair." He help Finch prop himself up on the edge of the bed and ran and got the chair from the corner, he brought it over to him and help him sit down.

Finch looked embarrassed. "Thank you, Dr. Field." He got himself situated in the chair so he was comfortable and looked at Field.

Field cleared his throat. "The last blood and urine samples are reflecting what I was trying to do; they are both coming up…" He glanced at the man in the bed and then back to Finch. "I am going to give him one more, higher dose and recheck…it should bring everything back to normal, balance his body back out…at that time we will reassess and make decisions from there. Dr Remington will be right in; he stopped off at the lunchroom for some coffee." Field stepped to the side of the bed, produced a needle and syringe and injected the contents into the IV line and waited. He could here the soft pad of shoes and saw one of the team members walk into the room with three empty vials. He looked back at the man laying in the bed and thought he saw an improvement in his color; he wasn't looking as gray as he had been. He checked his watch. "Let's give it a little more time before we draw…" He saw the man nod. He stepped back allowing access.

Dr Remington came into the room. He looked over at Finch and nodded. "Field told you the good news?" He saw Finch nod. He was worried about Finch. "Harold you need to get some rest…

Field turned toward them. "In the back storage room, there is a cot with clean sheets and a pillow, we pull it out when we run long tests…there's even an alarm clock back there.

Finch adjusted his position in the chair and looked from Field to Remington. "I'm fine…when he is out of danger I will rest."

Field nodded, looked at his watch. "Time to draw." He stepped back, allowing the other person to step in. Field was research, he thought he could hit a vein if he had to but, it wasn't his thing. The samples were gathered and the two research analysts headed out of the room.

Remington did a few things around John, checking his pupils, running a manual BP, checking temperature. He looked over at Finch. "His temp has dropped way down, 99 deg F." He checked the bandaged right hand and elbow, they looked less swollen and not as red. "If the next test comes back like Field thinks it will, will start to wake him up."

Finch heard what Remington had said but his mind was working on the coincidence that Field had been hired here…His mind began working the probabilities out, working like one of his computer programs. Then he remembered, he had written a program to search for and select the "dream team" people for this research facility, that was how Dr Field got to be here…Suddenly he heard Mr. Reese's voice in his mind _'Harold, I don't believe coincidences.' _ Harold suddenly smiled.


	11. Chapter 11

Please read and review, the reviews help me, thank you

Carter had driven half way back to the station; she had not detected a tail. She pulled to the side of the road and down an alley. She parked and got out of the car. She took her long coat off and set it in the back seat and looking around the alley she decided she was alone. She got down on her hands and knees and looked under the car, looking for a tracking device. There wasn't one on the driver's side. She stood up, walked to the back of the car and proceeded to do the same thing; there wasn't one on the back. She got to her feet and moved to the passenger side and did the same thing, looking at the undercarriage for anything that didn't belong there, still clear. She moved to the front and again got down on her hands and knees and looked under the engine. "Shit"

There is was, a little black box with a red light. She reached up and pulled it off, a good strong magnet held it to the car. Getting to her feet, turning she walked back to the street and smiled. Less then ten feet away was a delivery truck. She looked up and down the street, didn't see anyone that looked like a driver, she moved to the back of the truck and took another quick look around and placed it under the bumper and walked back to her car. She went to the trunk and opened it, taking some 'clean wipes' out a canister she cleaned her hands and brushed at the knees of her pants. She smiled as she heard a diesel engine start up, heard a backing alarm and saw the back end of the delivery truck come into view, then it pulled forward and disappeared. She shut the trunk and got back into the car and starting it she drove off down the alley. She drove another half hour away from the direction of the station before she thought she was safe enough to use the phone. She found a parking place and got out of the car. Taking her 'John' phone out of her coat pocket she headed over into the shadows of a building. She turned the phone on and pressed the speed dial. It started to ring. The whole time her eyes were scanning up and down the street, ever watching, a habit that was ingrained.

"Detective Carter..?." Harold's voice answered. "I have been trying to call you."

"Yeah well I have been a little busy…" Her eyes continued to scan, firmly placing her back against the building. "I had a visit from Agent Snow" Again there was that disgusted sound in her voice at the word agent. "Is John alright?"

"Snow contacted you?" Finch's voice vibrated with anger. "Why?"

"He gave me a message…" She had heard the anger in Harold's voice. "He told me to tell you that he has the cure…" She was going to ask what the hell was going on but Finch's next words stopped her.

"It's to late…"

POI

Finch sat in front of his computer screens and glared at them. He knew the numbers kept coming, no matter what. He reached out and took the cup of tea from the desk and sipped at it, a half eaten peice of toast sitting next to it. There had to be something he could do, some way to work through this, there had to be solutions to the problems. He was a problem solver... He set the tea back down and got to his feet. He reached down and took the tea back up and walking over toward the glass board they use to track the numbers, he looked at the pictures, there were three photos taped to the glass, two men and one woman. Solutions, there were solutions, he just had to work them out. He was still going on very little sleep and he had tried to eat but his heart wasn't in it. Mr. Reese usually brought him something in the morning to make sure he ate. He reached up and adjusted his glasses, a solution was slowing forming in his mind...yes, this might work...Turning he stepped to the desk he put the cup down and moving as quickly as he could he headed out...one down two to go...

POI

There were no dreams, no nightmares. He got his eyes to open to mere slits and sensed the room. It was cool and full of soft sun light. He had a hell of a headache. He was thirsty. His lips were dry. He saw movement and realized there was a woman leaning over him. He remained still, he felt her gently touch an ice cube to his lips. It felt good. He saw her move back away from him and he opened his eyes, watching her every move. She straightened the sheets covering him. She was dressed in a nurse uniform, a bright yellow top with huge multicolored flowers placed in random spots. He realized he was not restrained. He saw her eyes were the color of a blue sky, high cheekbones and a gracious mouth. She had dark hair, pulled up at the nape of her neck in a bun. She looked at him; a wide smile touched her lips, going into her eyes.

"Well Hello John…Glad to see you're back with us." She smiled down at him. "I am Carol…Mr. Finch said to tell you, we are at the small estate in upper New York; he said you would remember this room."

Reese glanced around, it was the one he had woken up handcuffed to the bed in…He remembered. He tried to talk, but his throat was so dry.

"I am going to give you a few ice chips…ok?" She saw his slight nod. She spooned a couple small ice chips and laid them in his mouth. "Just let them melt, you were on a ventilator for three days" She saw his green eyes look questioningly at her, his brow wrinkled down in a frown. "Mr. Finch said you have been very sick and went into a seizure, to keep from stressing your heart and mind they placed you in an induced coma. They released you out of the hospital yesterday morning. I was hired to come and stay with you." She saw a change in his expression as she had said the word hospital, but it was a fleeting look. She gestured with the spoon, seeing him swallow.

"Please…" it came out a hoarse whisper. The cold ice chips had felt like ambrosia in his mouth and as he swallowed it burned a little. When she mentioned the word hospital, John knew she was repeating what she had been told; he knew Finch would never risk a hospital. He opened his mouth and she slid a couple more ice chips into his mouth. He watched her as she set the cup and spoon aside.

"Now that you are awake I need to evaluate you….I have orders from Dr Remington…Ok?" She looked at him and smiled "I need to see if you can do a few things…"

He wasn't sure what she meant but…he nodded.

"Good." She moved the sheet down off his chest and took his left hand and laid it on his chest. "Can you move your fingers?"

His headache was getting harder to concentrate around. It took him a minute but he flexed his fingers, like doing finger push-ups.

"That's great; can you lift your left arm and lay it back along side your body?"

Again because of the headache he had to think about lifting his left hand, it felt like it weighted a ton, but he lifted it and it slid off his chest and stomach and kind of flopped down along side his torso…

"That's good…Ok….can you lift your right hand." She looked at him. "The hand is still bandaged, but the elbow is healing nicely." She looked down at his hand, waiting.

He looked at her, the headache was beginning to affect his vision with every pulse of pain his eyes were blurring a little, and the strain of moving his left arm had wore him out. He blinked a couple times. "Ba…d …head…ache..." his voice was a whisper.

Her blue eyes widened. "Ok…give me a minute." She walked away from the bed.

John lay looking at the ceiling, the pulsing pain growing stronger, he closed his eyes.

"John…This is a liquid…it's for pain…Dr Remington said you could have some every four hours…"

He opened his eyes and saw that she had another spoon in her hand.

She saw him register what she had said and she put the edge of the spoon to his lips and poured the sweet tasting liquid into his mouth, she saw him swallow. "This should work pretty fast, it's already a liquid and it's strong." She reached up and touched his forehead. "Let's rest for a few minutes and see how the pain is." She put the spoon to the side. "Would you like some more ice chips?" She saw just the slightest nod. She spooned a couple more out and even though he closed his eyes she spooned the chips into his mouth, she watched as he moved them around. She noticed how long his eye lashes were; they actually lay against his cheeks. She looked back at his hands, his right hand was bandaged but his left wasn't. That was one of the first things she had noticed about him, he had long graceful fingers, she wondered it he was a concert pianist…He could even be a model as good looking as he was, and she knew he worked out. She looked back at his face and saw he was looking at her. "Want to try some water?"

John wanted to move his head in a nod, but the pain was still so intense he didn't. He thought he said yes, but now the ringing in his ears were like Saint Mary's Church bells…He saw her dip the spoon into the ice water and move it toward him, he felt the cold liquid run into his mouth and he swallowed.

"I'm going to give you two more sips and that's all you can have for a while…I have some balm for your lips when you are ready."

He wasn't sure what she was saying but he got a little more water and then she put something on his lips. It took awhile but he realized the ringing was getting less and so was the headache.

Carol moved around him, fixing this, doing that for about thirty minutes and then she was back at his side. His eyes were closed but by his breathing she knew he was awake. "John, how are you feeling?" She saw his eyes open and a small lopsided smile touched his lips.

He licked his lips. "Better…"

"Good…Do you want to try and lift your right arm now?" She saw the smile move into those green eyes and she smiled back at him.

He had to concentrate, what ever she had given him, for the headache was making everything a little fuzzy, but the headache was better, he lifted the arm about an inch off the bed.

"That's great." She pulled the covers back up over him to just his shoulder line. Stepping to the end of the bed, she uncovered his feet.

He sensed the cool air on his feet.

"Ok, now try moving your left foot."

He move both feet at the same time, like a windshield wiper back and forth, then he changed so they were moving opposite…

He saw her look up from his feet. "Ok smart boy, now, so you think you can do them one at a time?" Her eyes narrowed and her lips pulled down in a frown.

Reese rolled his eyes and moved his left foot.

"Good, now the other one..."

He did as he was told.

"Great…." She covered his feet back up and then moved back to his side. She gave him a long look. "Would you like some more water?"

"Yes…"

"Let me sit you up a little more." She pushed something on the side of the bed and the head of the bed began to come up.

He watched her as she turned and poured a glass of water. He saw her turn toward him and offer the glass. He knew what she wanted him to do. He gave her a slanting glance. He pulled his left hand out from under the covers and took the glass as she extended it to him. He felt muscles protest as he moved. He wondered how long he had been inactive. He took the glass and had a good drink. He looked around the room and then back at her. "Where is Mr. Finch?" He lifted his hand and handed her back the glass.

She took the glass back and set it on the side of the table. She was happy with his motor skills. His eyes were tracking and his speech was improving. "Mr. Finch said to tell you that he had business to take care of." She saw concern move across his face. "He said to tell you that everything is fine…" she hesitated slightly…"And he said to tell you…"

He saw her expression change as if she were uncomfortable with the next part of the message.

She felt like she was delivering an encrypted message "You are protecting the next number." She saw just the slightest change in his expression, almost a reluctant smile. "I hope you understand what he is saying?" She moved away from the side of the bed, suddenly feeling uncomfortable under his gaze.

"Yes I do." He arched his shoulders a little feeling a bit of a pull in the right shoulder. Leave it to Finch, no matter what. In his mind he heard Harold's voice. _'The machine waits for no man.'_ He looked around the room a little more. "How long have you been a private nurse?"

She was writing something in a book and she turned and looked at him over her shoulder. "This is the first private job I've ever had." She looked back at the book, noted the time on her wrist watch and straightened and walked back toward him. "I was working at St Catherine's until three days ago." She walked to John, reached down and took his wrist in her finger tips, checking his heart rate. She looked at her wrist watch and waited fifteen seconds, counting. When finished she stepped back. "Mr. Finch came to me and said that Dr Remington recommended me for this private nursing job, offered me twice what I was getting at the hospital; I was due for vacation so I took the offer." She turned and walked back to the book she had written in and put her readings down.

A smirk touched John's face. Leave it to Finch to find a way to protect a number. "Yeah well my employer is like that, he has more money then he knows what to do with." His voice was improving, it was still a little hoarse sounding but it was easier to talk. "Not that I don't appreciate it, but he shouldn't have gone to the expense for me…"

She turned around and gave him a quizzical look. "Oh, the way he talked about you I thought you were partners or good friends…not employee and employer…"

Reese looked at her, as she turned around and walked back toward him. He was slowly starting to flex and tighten his muscles, making them respond. He made a little gesture with his head. A sardonic look touched his face "Partners would probably be closer…"

"Do you feel like sitting up a little more?" She could tell what he was doing, working his muscles. She poured him some more water and handed it to him.

Reese took the water and drank about half. "Yes…I like to sit completely up."

"How about we do this in stages…I don't want you over taxing your self in the first hour…" She raised the bed a little more. "Are you hungry? There is some soup that the cook made, it's excellent."

He smiled at her. "Yes, soup would be nice."

"I'll be back in a few minutes." She turned and walked out of the room leaving the door open as she went.

John used his left hand and flipped the covers off. He was in a tee shirt and warm up pants. Swinging his feet over the edge of the bed he sat up. There was a little dizziness, but he expected it. He moved to the edge of the bed and came to his feet, using his left hand to steady himself. He felt pretty steady. He looked down at his right arm and hand, there was a large multi colored bruise in the crook of his arm. His right hand was still bandages, but not as excessive as before he could see the flesh part of the thumb, there was a small area of scab showing. The hand didn't hurt like it had.

Reese got his balance and took a couple steps away from the bed. It felt good to be standing. The headache had come back but nothing like it had been. He moved toward the closet. He knew Finch would have put his cloths in there, he was also hoping that since he was to protect Carol that Finch had brought his hardware also.

"I knew you were going to try this…" She moved to the dresser and set the tray down. "John you need to get back to bed…Now." She stepped to his side, gently placing her hand around his hip she reached for his left arm and gently turned him back toward the bed.

His eyes narrowed. "I just wanted to get something from the closet…" He felt naked with out protection. Reese was hoping she would let him

"Get back in bed and I will get it for you." She gently moved him back toward the bed.

Reese wasn't sure what to do; he knew he needed to find out if Finch had left a gun in the closet. "Its kind of personal…I need to get it myself." He felt her stiffen her hold on his arm and around his hip…He was going back to bed whether he liked it or not…

"I'm sorry John, but until Dr Remington tells me…you are stuck in bed…Come on now. "She turned him around and helped him back into bed, lifting his feet up and pulling the covers back over him…she smiled at him and saw that he was sulking. "Sorry John, Doctors orders." She found it fascinating he could sulk like a little kid.


	12. Chapter 12

Please read and review...*warning death scene*

Dillon Flint snapped the disposable cell phone closed and threw it across the hotel room. He had done as his handler; the Chief had asked him to do. Now the Chief was angry with him, Snow…Snow was the one causing the problems, and the other rogue agent John. If Snow had done as he asked at the start of this mission, everything would have been fine, he would have extracted the information they wanted. But no…Snow had overdosed the target, had refused to stay in the observation room and the target, even in an induced state had sensed him in the room, it was all Snow's fault. Snow was a problem; he had caused Dillon to disappoint the Chief. Dillon looked across the bare bones room to the bag sitting next to the door; he was going to take care of the problem. He stalked across the room and gather his bag up, doing to the little table he dropped the bag on it and started rummaging around, bringing out different bottles and several empty darts…He'd take care of this, he knew where both of them were…His blue eyes took on a strange look.

POI

Finch opened the door to the apartment that he still maintained for John to use when he wanted to. He knew Reese didn't stay more then one night anywhere, as Reese had said, '_a moving target is harder to find_'. But, Finch had found that John for the last three nights had logged on into the system from here, and for twelve hours now Mr. Reese was MIA again. It had been just under a month ago that the Snow/Flint incident had happened. Finch had noticed a distinct change in Reese. He had gone back to the Reese he had been when they had first started working together, more silent, more sullen, less talkative. He had told Finch just before he disappeared that he had something that he had to take care of and would be gone for awhile, probably a day at the most. Finch had asked him why and all he had gotten was that cold stare before Reese walked out. His cell phone had been powered off and the battery removed and left behind one of the computer screens. Finch was worried. In a routine search of his system he found John's log in, he was surprised that it had been hidden as well as it was, but his machine had found it. The problem was that the computer that John had used at the apartment had been powered down and that meant Finch had to come here to find out what the search had been for.

"Mr. Reese… what are you up to?" Finch limped into the room where the computer had been set up and found it sitting there. Nothing looked damaged. He walked over to it and sat in the chair in front of the computer screen and powered it up.

His reward was a blue screen.

Finch adjusted his glasses and let a smirk cross his face, an eyebrow raised. "Come now Mr. Reese…You have to better than this" He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a USB flash stick. He powered the computer down, plugged the stick into the USB and powered it back up. With a few strokes of the keys he had restore the system. His hands flew over the keyboard as he ran a search…it took less the five minutes

"Oh my…" His eyes widened… The search had been on Dillon Flint…

POI

Tyrell Evens looked up from his desk at their Section Chief. "I don't know where he is…You know he doesn't check in with me?"

The heavy set, balding man standing in front of Tyrell's desk ran a hand over his face. That was the problem, Snow didn't check in with anyone. "He's your partner…"

Tyrell looked at the old man. Tyrell had been personally assigned to Snow, he was the only agent that would put up with Snow, and Tyrell liked his job so he took the attitude that Snow gave him and kept his mouth shut. "He checked the SUV out yesterday and hasn't answered his phone since…I don't know where he is."

The Chief looked across the room, he didn't care how many years Snow had in the agency, this was inexcusable… "Put a trace on the SUV, track it…" He turned and walked away from Tyrell's desk and back to his office, calling back over his shoulder as he walked away. "Find him…Now!" He had gotten notification from Flint's handler that the man was out of contact and out of control, and Dillon's Chief was a worried…

POI

Dillon Flint had everything he needed. He shouldered into a rain coat, filled his pockets with the darts and the dart gun and moved to the door. Flipping the light off, he turned and walked back across the room to the window. It was a overcast dark night. He opened the window and felt a cold blast of wet air blow into the room. He moved out through the window onto the fire escape and straightened up. He shut the window; he wouldn't come back to this room. It was more of a misting rain. He turned and stepped to the edge of the railing and looked out into the night. A smile spreading to his lips, tonight was a good night, the rain would cover a lot.

He saw the muzzle flash and felt the bullet strike him in the center of his chest. He was thrown back against the window. The center of the sill stopped him from falling back into the room. He dropped, almost in a kneeling position on the grating, looking down at the ever spreading spot in the center of his chest, he realized his back hurt. He looked up again and saw the flash one more time before he died.

-30-


End file.
